The Most Dangerous Plaything
by Kurt
Summary: Ch 19 is up, and this story is COMPLETE. A sequel to 'Returning the Favor'. Clarice takes something that belongs to the GD...and he wants it back.
1. The End of Paradise

                _The true man wants two things – danger and play.  Therefore he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.  – Friedrich Nietzsche _

It was a beautiful summer day in Berlin, the sort of bright sunny day which can't help but cheer up anyone.  The southwest area of Berlin has always been the playplace of the wealthy, and the lawns were green and bright.  The Benjamin Franklin Hospital, part of the Free University of Berlin, sees to the medical needs of southwest Berliners, hovering grandly over the Hindenburgdamm on one side and the Lichterfelde Park on another.  It seems surprising, somehow disjoint, that a hospital in Berlin, a city thriving long before Europeans ever set foot in the New World, be named after an American Founding Father, but it is so.  Berliners are quite used to it.  

                Within the quiet walls of the surgical floor was another American.  Although Dr. Angela Lind possessed German citizenship, which she had been granted upon proving that her grandfather was originally born in Cologne, the fact that she had been born in America and received her medical training there had ensured she would be called '_die Amerikanerin' for the remainder of her career.   She fit well into the surgical staff:  her fellow doctors believed her to be a highly competent, driven surgeon.  The nurses generally liked Dr. Lind; they found her to be calm in a crisis and polite to those who did not bear the letters MD after their names.  As well, Dr. Lind's dainty English consonants amused her co-workers.  Her German was quite good, though, as only being immersed in a language daily will swiftly sharpen one's language skills.  _

                The staff had also met Dr. Lind's husband.  Dr. Henry Lind was a charming, courtly older man who occasionally dropped by the hospital to meet his wife.  His work was not in the medical field.  Instead, Henry Lind was the assistant curator of the German Historical Museum, and rumor had it that he would have the top job when its current occupant left it.  Doubtlessly, one or two members of the surgical staff had thought occasionally about the May-December marriage of Herr and Frau Doktor Lind, but those thoughts were kept firmly to themselves. There could hardly be any doubt that the marriage was based on genuine love and affection: Frau Dr. Lind seemed crazy about her husband and met him often on the Unter den Linden.   Usually it would be for a meal, lunch or dinner.  A few staff members who also headed to that area might have told you, after you had plied them with a few beers, that they had seen the Drs Lind in an occasional hidden embrace or kiss, if they did not see anyone around.

                If you had pressed the staff further, they might have told you that Dr. Lind occasionally went to the department of nephrology.  She would not offer details of these visits voluntarily, and most of the staff had learned not to ask.   A few surgeons in the department knew that Dr. Lind, herself, was a kidney transplant recipient.  Out of deference to Dr. Lind's clear desire for privacy on the issue, they did not ask any more.  

                And it was on that fine summer day that Dr. Lind left the hospital and headed for the nearest U-bahn station.  Her destination was the University Hospital-Mitte of Humboldt University, in Mitte near her husband's place of work.  It would make for a nice surprise, she thought.  She was registered for a conference on long-term graft survival for kidney transplant recipients, an area of medicine she maintained a professional interest in.  It would be done soon and she would be able to meet her husband for dinner. The chief of surgery at Mitte had dropped occasional hints that he would like her as an attending surgeon, but Dr. Lind was already quite busy and did not know if she could divide her time between two hospitals.  

                Life was quite happy for Dr. Lind as she proceeded past the almond trees of the Lichterfelde Park.  She had a thriving career and the respect of her colleagues.  She shared a large house on the Wannsee with her husband.  It was much larger than she was used to, and at time she felt that the two of them knocked around in it like a couple of acorns rattling around in a shoebox.  And finally and most importantly, she had a loving marriage with her husband.  She had worried upon their arrival in Germany several years ago that he would not be happy, even though he spoke German and she did not.  But he was content, finding work as an assistant curator of the German Historical Museum.  He was not so anxious as he had once been to be chief curator.  Henry Lind enjoyed the access to Renaissance artifacts that his job gave him, but he was less excited about the political glad-handing and handshaking that the top spot would demand of him.  

                So Berlin was a good, happy place for Dr. Angela Lind, and she tried to be good back to her adopted home.  Germany's liberal citizenship laws had allowed her the convenience of claiming German citizenship.  All that had taken was showing that Angela Lind's maiden name had been Angela Brinkley, and that her grandfather on her mother's side had been born in Cologne in 1925.  The fact that he had emigrated to Pennsylvania at age five mattered not a whit to the German government, nor did the fact that he had relinquished his German citizenship in favor of American citizenship at age seventeen.  It would have mattered more to them had they known that that Angela Brinkley was dead, had never married, and that the woman using her name possessed not a drop of German blood.  But this fact was not known to them, and so a dead American woman was now a liked and respected member of Berlin's medical community.  

                And Dr. Lind had tried to give back to her adopted home.  She worked tirelessly, pulling long shifts and taking care of the sick and wounded of Berlin as she had taken care of the sick and wounded back in Columbus, Ohio, where she had learned her surgeon's trade.  Medical students and residents tended to like her. As a teacher she was demanding, but did not gleefully humiliate them as some senior surgeons might.  

                Money was not a problem. This was no small comfort to a woman who had lived through college and med school on ramen noodles and store-brand soup.  Her salary at the hospital was comfortable; her husband did reasonably well himself, and he had enough assets that working for a salary was not a necessity for either of them.  Herr Dr. Lind was quite comfortable spending freely; Frau Dr. Lind would have been quite comfortable on much less.  But it was a comfort to know that the house on the Grosser Wannsee – a house finer than any Dr. Lind had thought she would ever live in – was theirs, and it was a comfort to know that whatever might come, they were financially comfortable.  

                The best, of course, was her marriage.  The career was great, but she'd had it before, and it wasn't  much by itself. All this luxury and all this comfort was nice, but having it with _him made it far, far better.   It made it all worthwhile.  She could tolerate twelve-hour surgical shifts knowing that she would see him afterwards.  Whether it was at their own table, set elegantly with a gourmet meal, a five-star restaurant, or the simple little café they liked at Unter den Linden did not matter.  It was being with him that she craved, content and at ease in his presence.  Referring to each other by names that were not those given to them at birth meant nothing.  Dr. Angela Lind was as deeply in love with her husband as she had been before they'd married, back in the U.S., when he had come to her in his time of need._

                The U-Bahn ride was not terribly long, the cars reasonably clean and well cared for.  He would have preferred that she drive, but it was easier to take the U-bahn.  Besides, he had refused to let her have the small, sensible Volkswagen or Renault she had wanted – as close as she could get to her beloved Civic, the only car she had ever owned in her prior life.  Instead, he had insisted on getting her a supercharged BMW that felt much too powerful for her.   He told her about lateral acceleration and handling and power to justify the decision.  _He might like his cars to be barely tamed beasts, but she preferred cars that were tamer, not to mention cheaper to fuel. So she took the U-Bahn and left the Beemer in the driveway unless she really needed it.  _

                The conference proved to be interesting, and she took copious notes.  A few doctors there she recognized, but not all of them; this conference had attracted doctors from all over Europe.  Thankfully, there were only a few Americans, and none that had known her in her former life.  Even with different color hair and a bit of work around the eyes and nose, recognition by those who had known her was always a possibility.  She knew very well where _that might lead.   It would start simply:  __Do I know you?  Did you do your residency at OSU?  Wasn't there a surgical resident there who disappeared, supposedly with that serial killer?  Then, worse:  word would get around, and eventually it would make its way back to those who sought her husband.  After that, it would be horror.  Apocalypse.  Everything she'd ever wanted, everything she'd ever wished for, all burned in the ashes.  In place of the mansion on the Wannsee they would have separate cells.  Even if they didn't keep her, they would take _him_ away, and that would be as great a punishment as fifty years in solitary confinement.  Angela Lind could give up her name and her career in Berlin; she'd done it before.  It would hurt, but she could give those things up.  She could have even given up her career altogether, if that was necessary.  But life without him was…inconceivable.  Her mind quailed at the thought._

                …

                Dr. Henry Lind's footsteps echoed on the floor of the museum as he gazed around at the new exhibit.  It had been set up today, Turkish _Gastarbeiter sweating as they carefully moved boxes and unpacked things.  Dr. Lind had been concerned that they would break things, but they had not.  He had simply spoken politely with the foreman, a fellow who'd been in Germany for many years.  Dr. Lind had felt some sympathy for them as they worked.  He had provided, at his own expense, a water cooler and ample water jugs for them.  _

                In a way, it was amusing.  The medieval torture exhibit had made its way to the museum just as it had in Florence.  He watched the Turks suspend the starvation cage and eyed the skeleton therein for a moment.  _Ah, old friend, he thought, __much has changed for me since last we met.  But no one has fed you as of yet, I take it.   _

                Some things had been added to the exhibit.  He tilted his head and glanced over at the large, four-handed saw and table.  He thought briefly of another time, another place.  Many years ago, across the Atlantic.  Dr. Lind closed his eyes and screams from years in the past echoed through his mind.  The saw had been most awfully messy.  But sometimes it was necessary.   Under the large saw and wooden table was a placard.  Henry Lind read it solemly. 

                _This particular large-toothed, four-handed woodsman's saw dates back only two centuries, though historical accounts of its victims abound. The unfortunate subject was suspended upside-down, and the saw was used to split the body in two, beginning at the crotch. Because the victim was inverted, the brain remained adequately oxygenated and little blood was lost, ensuring that consciousness was maintained until the saw reached the navel and even possibly the breast._

_                That was as true now as it had ever been.  He remembered explaining to Clarice Starling that all recreational flayings took place with the victim inverted, for the same reason.  From the cruel streak of those who had ruled Europe in the Dark Ages all the way down to Jame Gumb.  The human echo of God's own depredations and matchless cruelty, he thought.  He hadn't thought of Clarice Starling in months.  The thought of her was not without pain.  He was quite happy in his marriage, and quite happy with his life in Berlin, but he could never forget that Clarice had scorned him, spurned his offer, and continued to hunt him. Why was still a question he had to ask himself.  Her talents were wasted in the FBI: they did not appreciate her uniqueness.  Staying with the FBI was throwing away her life.  _

Those men who have second wives may care for them and love them very much, as Henry Lind did.  Nonetheless, it is hardly uncommon or unreasonable for those same men to mourn the loss of their first marriage or relationship.  Even if they are happy in their new marriage, as he was.  Even if they knew that it was meant to be.  Henry Lind saw no irrationality in loving the woman he was married to but still mourning the loss of Clarice Starling.  Even now, if she had needed him, he would have given her the moon and the stars should she have asked him.  He closed his eyes and forced the thought down the oubliette of his memory palace. He continued reading to clear his mind. 

_                 The saw was frequently assigned as a method of torture and execution to homosexuals of both sexes. In Spain, the saw was rumored to have been used in the armed forces until the end of the eighteenth century. The saw was the chosen method of execution for leaders of disobedient peasants in Lutheran Germany, and in France it provided punishment for witches who became pregnant by Satan._

_                Dr. Henry Lind had never been a homophobe; such beliefs were often the province of the less educated.  He had known homosexuals as patients and as co-workers even then, when his name had been Hannibal Lecter.  It made not a drop of difference to him.  When he had first been brought to court for his crimes, there were those who had argued that he was either a homophobe or a homosexual or both, because of Benjamin Raspail. In fact, the case was neither.  Raspail had been an annoyance, no more.  _

                It did surprise him that the saw was a punishment for pregnant witches.  It was an old quirk of law and custom that a pregnant woman was typically immune from the horrible punishments that the human mind thought up for those unfortunates who fell into bad odor with those in power.  Although, he allowed, the placard did not specify if the witches in question were actually pregnant when they were sawed in half or if it occurred later, once their allegedly demonic offspring had been born.   

                "_Herr Doktor Lind," sounded behind him.  Hannibal Lecter turned and smiled, recognizing the sound of the voice.  His wife stood behind him. Angela Lind, __nèe Erin Lander.  She wore a smart little suit and carried a briefcase. Her hair was blonde, no longer its natural black, but tastefully so. Her lips curved into a smile as he noted her presence with a pleasant nod and a smile of his own.  She stepped forward to embrace him tightly.  She smiled.  He smiled himself, vaguely embarrassed by the show of affection in front of the workmen.  Their lips touched._

                "_Frau Doktor Lind," he rejoined.  "What a nice surprise.  Weren't you on duty, Angela?"   Only in private did the Drs. Lind refer to each other by their actual names.  In public or on the phone, they used their cover names.  _

                "Today was the neph conference," she explained.  "I left early.  And the conference actually finished on time."   Her eyes danced.  "So I thought I would drop by.  Maybe get a bite to eat over at the café, you know, the one you like."  Her German was excellent, but still held the dainty consonants of American English.  The workmen seemed amused, for virtually all of them spoke accentless German. 

                "That sounds pleasant," Dr. Lecter agreed.  "I do have to remain here for a bit to see that this exhibit gets set up." 

                She seemed disappointed.  "How long?" She cast her eyes around the medieval torture equipment being set up for the admiration of the public.  Her eyes caught on the metal saw and she stared curiously at it for a moment.  Dr. Lecter supposed that she disapproved of the exhibit.  

                "Twenty minutes," he said.  "Half an hour at most." 

                The answer pleased her.  Her face brightened and she nodded approvingly.  "All right, then," she said.  "I'll go there and get a table before it fills up." 

                "I'll meet you there as soon as I can," Dr. Lecter assured her.  "Thank you for your patience, dear." 

                Dr. Lecter watched his young wife leave. Her heels echoed on the floor as she departed.  His life here in Berlin was quite happy, he thought.  He had money, comfort, a job that pleased him, and a lovely young wife who adored him.  Small wonder indeed that he had not killed anyone while here in this city that was three-quarters of a millennia old.  He was quite content here, and would be happy to live out his life as a museum curator married to a surgeon.  

                If there were angels, he thought, they were not cherubs in robes with wings.  They were people like his wife.  That thought might have seemed surprisingly mawkish to those who studied the depravities Dr. Lecter had committed in his younger years.  But Dr. Lecter had arrived at the conclusion without a trace of mawkishness or sentimentality; it was the only way he could possibly explain why his wife would work so tirelessly to save the lives of small, mean people who rarely showed even the slightest bit of gratitude for her efforts.  Most of the time, Dr. Lecter thought, the public weal would be better served if his wife were to simply draw her scalpel across their throat while they lay unconscious before her.  But she refused to see things this way.  

                The workmen were grateful to him for the water, and perhaps having seen his wife, they wanted to make it possible for him to meet her.  Quickly enough, the ancient implements of torture were moved to where they could be mused over by the public.  After twenty minutes, Dr. Lecter decided that the foreman could be trusted to see to it that the exhibit would be set up properly.  

                He glanced out at an eighteenth-century sailing vessel cruising along the Spree.  A fine boat, he decided, probably belonging to a wealthy enthusiast. Its brass tack and new sails indicated that someone cared deeply for it.  The walk down Unter den Linden was but a few blocks.  Dr. Lecter walked past the Humboldt University campus, wondering if his wife was willing to take the adjunct position that the chief of surgery had been dying to offer her.  The café was not far past the Friedrichstrasse.  

                Dr. Lecter continued walking, just another man in a suit in the busy streets.  His eyes scanned those around him and dropped off, finding them harmless.  He was perfectly calm and at ease.  Then, half a block from his destination, he froze.  His nostrils flared. Dr. Lecter was very familiar with the odors of the street.  The exhaust fumes of cars, the perfume of female pedestrians, the green smell of the linden trees  were all as they should be.  But there were other odors, odors of danger that set him to alert immediately.  He closed his eyes and drew in the smells through his nose.  The metallic smell of gun bluing and gun oil.  The atrocious aftershaves that it seemed all policemen favored, bright and offensive in his sensitive nose.  The chemical smell of the plastic bodies of new radios pressed into use. 

And faintly, almost completely covered by the sounds of city life, were the sounds of his hunters.  He could hear metallic, staticky voices speaking into radios.  It was too faint to make out the words, but he didn't need to.  Like any predator who has survived his rambunctious young adulthood, Dr. Lecter was able to sense danger, his senses and subconscious constantly on the lookout for other predators who sought to hunt in his territory.  

                He saw his wife, seated at an outside table, waiting for him.  Her back was to him.  She seemed perfectly at peace, unable to sense the danger she was in.  Dr. Lecter did not blame her for that; his senses were far sharper, his experience in being a fugitive far greater.  Around her, the jackals were holed up, waiting to spring on the lion and his lioness.  

                A couple sat at a table nearby.   They might as well have worn signs around their necks reading 'Undercover FBI'.  They displayed not the slightest bit of interest in each other, but instead were trying to look inconspicuous while they watched his wife.  They were stiff and uncomfortable as they sat at their table pretending to chit-chat.  Dr. Lecter watched one of them raise his hand to his ear and presumed that he was mumbling something into the microphone in his ear.  

                Another man stood in the phone booth.  He held the receiver and was talking to someone – or so it appeared.  But his eyes were not blank, envisioning the person he was speaking to.  They were clear, focused, and on Erin.  Dr. Lecter knew without being told that the person on the other end of the line was doubtlessly either FBI or _Bundeskriminalamt.  _

                A third was a woman holding a blanket-wrapped bundle.  _Clever, Dr. Lecter thought.  She bent over it and cooed to it.  There would be no baby therein.  Possibly a machine gun, if the BKA would allow such things in Germany.  Or quite possibly a cunning disguise for electronics:  a camera, perhaps, or a voice recorder wedged into a doll's body.  American electronics and technology had always led the world.  But the woman was walking along the street, gently rocking the bundle as if trying to get her baby to sleep.  Her eyes remained on Erin, though, Erin sitting so calmly in the jackal's nest.  Only when it was necessary for her role did she look into the blanket.  _

                And finally, Dr. Lecter picked out one of the waiters.  This was a favorite café of the Drs. Lind, and they knew the staff well.  The young man in the waiter's apron seemed clumsy, ill at ease.  He had not worked in food service.  And this establishment was picky about its wait staff, which was why Dr. Lecter liked it.  The suspicious bulge under the waiter's apron was a huge giveaway itself.  

                Pursuing him was something Dr. Lecter could deal with.  But his wife – that was beyond the pale.  Call her Erin Lander or Angela Lind, she was not a killer, and had never harmed a soul.  Dr. Lecter shook with rage even as he began to drift back to the corner of the Friedrichstrasse.  From his pocket he produced his phone and dialed.  

                He hovered around the corner of the Friedrichstrasse, watching carefully as the tiny figure sitting in the middle of the danger zone picked up the ringing device from her briefcase and held it to her ear. 

                "_Lind," she said, answering with her last name in the German fashion.  In her voice he heard no realization of the danger she was in. _

                "Erin," he said, knowing they might be listening and not caring.  He spoke English.  "There are FBI around you. Get out, now.  Back the way you came."  

                He could hear her pant into the phone, two or three long, uneven breaths.  Fortunately, she maintained enough self-control to keep up appearances.  

                "Really?" she asked.  "I didn't know that.  Let me check."  She got up and began to walk towards him calmly.  Behind her, the coupled agents leaned forward, suddenly on alert.  The waiter, laden down with coffee cups in the carrying out of his phony duties, seemed chagrined.  The woman with the fake baby turned and looked curiously.  

                "The woman with the baby," he said.  "Watch her.  Three more behind you, one dressed as a waiter.  Act calm, Erin, and they won't suspect anything, they'll just follow you.  Walk to me, Erin, come to me." 

                Her voice was constrained and restricted with terror.  "…nnibal?" she asked, her voice shaky.  Dr. Lecter did not know if fear or cell-phone static had cut off the first syllable of his name.  The bastards.  They could go after him if he wanted it, but leave his wife be.  She hardly deserved to be terrorized like this.  She crossed through the tables and extricated herself from the outdoor patio of the café, heading  towards him.   Her step was measured, if not calm.  Good, good.  

                Behind her, the woman with the baby rose and fell into step behind her.  Any doubt that Dr. Lecter might have had about the origin of the baby was erased. The woman clamped it against her side with her left arm, the baby completely sideways.  She began fumbling with something in her right pocket, her eyes locked on the smaller blonde departing the café.  No baby would have submitted to that without screaming, and no mother would have done that to her baby. After another few seconds, the couple got up and began to slowly meander after Erin.  Their body language suggested nothing more than a couple out for a stroll on this beautiful day, but they never quite took their eyes off their target, and occasionally they spoke into the microphones nestled in their ears.  

                "You know what to do," he said.  "Keep walking towards me, there's a good girl, they won't stop you until they see me.  You have it in your pocket, do you not?" 

                "Yes," his wife husked back, and he could hear the panic in her voice.  He knew this would be difficult for her.  That was probably what they had thought of.   It was probably Clarice's touch, it seemed like her style. 

                "Get it out and get ready.  Remember, Erin…she is not a mother, and that is not a baby.  It is a piece of plastic.  Do what you have to, when she tries to stop you, and then run.  But she won't until they see me.  Remember that." 

                Her voice shook with fear.  She was crying.  The evil bastards, Dr. Lecter thought.  He had shared a fairy-tale existence with her, here in Germany's greatest city, and they had to come in and destroy it all.  It made him wonder who the monster truly was.   

                Behind Erin Lander, the woman shifted the plastic doll on her hip.  Her eyes narrowed as she watched her prey walking under the linden trees.   She touched one of the dials implanted in the abdomen of the doll.  Inside, electronics began trying to track down the ESN of Dr. Lander's cell phone, which would lead them to the other cell phone, which would probably be Lecter.  

                She quickened her stride, noting the short, quick strides of her prey.  She didn't want Lander to break and run.  Normally, she would have preferred to simply stay half a block behind the woman, letting her lead them to Dr. Lecter, but she had a sinking feeling that her cover was blown. 

                "I'm so scared," Erin Lander whispered strengthlessly into her phone.  

                "Don't be. Deep, calm breath, Erin. You must be prepared."  

                Erin Lander dipped her hand into the jacket pocket of her suit.  Her fingers closed around a small round cylinder therein.  She remembered when he had gotten it for her, how she had objected to carrying it.  Thank God he had stuck to his guns.  She had been insistent on not carrying a knife or a gun – killing was wrong, in her view, she saw the results of violence every day and despised it.  But Dr. Lecter had been equally insistent on this. Thank God. Fear made her gut churn, her knees weak.  

                "She's got something in her coat pocket," the woman behind her said suddenly into her baby's face.   Her tone was not at all the tone of a loving mother; instead, it was the clipped, deliberate voice of the pack hunter.  "Let her go with it or take her down?" 

                "Take her down," a metallic voice said from an earphone in the woman's ear. 

                The woman walked up three deliberate steps to where Erin Lander held her cell phone to her ear with her right hand and clenched a metal cylinder in her coat pocket with her left.  

                "_Entschuldigung," the woman said.  "Dr. Lander, I presume?" _

                Erin's left hand came out of her pocket.  Her thumb flicked the plastic cap off the bottom of the can.  She faced the woman, her eyes wide with panic, and felt her stomach lurch.  But she knew what she had to do, and she knew what _he had told her to do, and so she did it.  The spray of police-strength mace blinded the disguised agent, who screamed and dropped her expensive electronic baby.  It made a hollow __plonk and rattled as its electronics broke on the sidewalk.  _

                Erin Lander ran pell-mell along the Unter den Linden for perhaps sixty yards, until she saw him.  She skidded around the corner, her hands out and grasping for him.  He would keep her safe.  He knew what to do.  She saw him beginning to quicken his stride so that she did not simply hurtle past him,  and then his hand was firm on her arm.  _Thank God.  _

_                Behind them, the couple had given up trying to conceal themselves once Erin Lander had maced the first agent.  One stopped to see to their fallen comrade.  After satisfying themselves that some soap, water, and time would solve whatever Erin had done to her, they pursued.  Across the street, four people disgorged from a van and ran after the couple fleeing up the Friedrichstrasse.  _

                Hannibal Lecter fled up the street, his legs pumping surprisingly quickly for a man of sixty-four.  He maintained control of his wife with a simple hand on her arm, directing her where he wanted her to go.  He didn't need to ask to be told that her brain was offline, the simple terror of a pursued prey animal crowding out everything else.  But she was able to run, and he would do the thinking for both of them. 

                There.  A fenced in yard.  Dr. Lecter knew that if they could make it over, it would slow down their pursuers.  Perhaps long enough to make it to a taxi stand.  A car would come in quite handy about now.  He would kill the driver and take the car.  Or he could double back and they could vanish into the U-bahn station on the Friedrichstrasse.  But he had to put some distance between them and his pursuers.  

                Handily, the gate was open, and Dr. Lecter ran through it, closing the gate after Erin was through.  He ran across the fenced-in yard to the far side, his mind whirling from the here and now to his memory palace.  What was the cross street? Dorothenstrasse, that was it.  The offices of the Federal Press Agency were here.  Perhaps they could disappear in there.  

                Dr. Lecter scaled the wrought iron fence.  Conveniently, there was  a cross bar mounted on the iron bars perhaps three feet high.  It made for a reasonably convenient handhold.  He could hear their shouts behind him moving closer, and he glanced back.  They had made it into the yard.  Now he had to get over, leaving them to scale the wall.  The ornate points pressed into his hands, and he grimaced.  Erin was making her way up the fence, getting her feet on the crossbar.  _Over, over, Erin, hurry, he thought. Then he was over himself, the shock of contact with the sidewalk racing up his legs and making his lips curl.  _

                Erin shinnied up, struggling to get her leg over the fence.  She was almost over, just a second more. He waited a moment for her, and then his eyes widened with horror.  Time itself slowed down for him, the more to torture him.  He was forced to relive this again, every horrid detail embellished in both their memories.  

                A taller agent, in hot pursuit, leaped up to the crossbar and grabbed Erin as she tried to make it over the fence.  She felt a hand grip her nyloned calf and let out a shrill shriek of pure animal terror that chilled everyone who heard it.  And then there were more hands, grabbing her, pulling her down.  On the wrong side of the fence.  One low-heeled pump fell off, landing with a rattle on the bricks.  And then there were hands on her, grabbing her wrists and arms.  Relentlessly, they grabbed her arms and began the work of forcing them behind her.  

                Erin grabbed his hand through the bars, and he grabbed hers back.  His fingers tightened powerfully on her lower arm.  On her face was perfect shock, horror, and misery.  Then there was an awful yank from the agents who sought to control her.  He felt every inch as it was jerked back; the silk of her jacket sleeve.  Her bare wrist:  he could feel its heat and caught a single pulsebeat as it passed.  He grabbed her hand, and she his, but the robotic automatons holding her were relentless.  There were far too many of them for him to free her, and more coming.  

                Then her palm was skidding along his fingers, and the fingernail of his middle finger caught against the engagement and wedding rings she wore.  There was an audible click as they relentlessly dragged her hand back between the bars and his nail popped free.

                During both her residency in Columbus and her practice in Berlin, Erin Lander had occasionally been forced to perform operations that she did not care for.  Amputations were the most difficult.  She had always striven to try and take extra care of these patients, for she was dedicated enough of a healer to understand that there is a great deal of emotional shock when one must have a limb amputated.  Where part of you once was, living, blood pulsing through live tissue, there is just blank space.  

                Seeing her husband on the other side of the bars, knowing exactly what lay ahead of her, she knew that she felt the same way.  While she might be whole of body, her name, her life here in Berlin, and above all, her husband had just been torn from her.  Instead of someone with any understanding, she was now controlled by these heartless automatons who were jabbering calmly at her and expected her to understand.  Understand she did:  she understood that she was lost, irretrievably lost, that her life as Angela Lind was over, and what lay ahead was probably full of pain and misery.   But where there had been as happy a life as she could have ever hoped for…now, there was just blank space.

                On the other side of the bars, Hannibal Lecter stood for a heartbeat or two.  His face worked   For the third time in his life, this was happening to him again.  They were taking her from him.  Taking from him what was rightfully his.  Time and space seemed to spin and cartwheel in the scant bits of a second.  It was Lithuania in 1944, and the deserters were pulling Mischa out of his grip, slamming his arm and throwing him back into the barn.  It was Chesapeake in 1998, and Clarice Starling was pulling _herself out of his grip, her pretty face twisting:  __"Not in a thousand years."  _

_                It was Berlin in 2002, and they were ripping his wife from him.  They seemed inhuman, __semi-human, somehow.  Clever automata, just as the electronic baby lying on the sidewalk of Unter den Linden.  And there was something vaguely insectoid in how they seized her, arms slithering around her body to seek control.  Dr. Lecter felt a pitch of nausea at the sight of it.  Their faces were blank; they had no idea what they were doing to her._

                Now there was a handcuff on her left wrist, and his blood boiled at the sight of it.  The cuff was a Clejuso, more oval and seemingly more artistic than the Peerless and Smith and Wesson handcuffs that the American authorities had clapped on him when his hobbies came to light.  And it was handcuffs that he had been able to get out of, his first steps towards freedom in Memphis so many years ago.  But on his wife, who spent her days saving the lives and health of others, it was an obscenity, every bit as grotesque and horrible as Mischa's milk teeth in the stool pit had been.  

                The look on her face reminded him of the other children in the barn.  At some point, the human mind can only take so much before shutting down, and that point had to be near.  His heart beat once.  Her mouth opened. 

                Erin Lander looked into her husband's face.  Faintly, in the part of her mind that was still aware of what was happening, she knew he must be thinking of times past.  Mischa, his sister, probably, also torn from him by monstrous men.  Or Starling, perhaps.  Clarice Starling, who had wrenched herself from him and stood with those men of her own accord.   His face was sculpted in lines of rage and fury.  For a moment she thought he meant to vault – or perhaps tear apart – the fence and fight the agents holding her.  But there were too many; she knew that even as they held her and forced her arms behind her back.  All he would accomplish would be to be caught himself.  If she had to be captured, that was simple fact at this point.  But better that he remain free, so that her own capture might mean something.  

                "_Run!" she shrieked, in English.  "__Run, Hannibal!  For the love of God, run!  You can't save me!  Run!" _

_                She was right, of course.  Hannibal Lecter could not kill seven FBI agents himself.  He could not save her, but he would not forsake her.  Not now.  _

                Anger coursed through his veins as he turned to flee.  Watching them shackle her and take her away like a common criminal was more than he could bear.  So he turned and he ran, his fury and his pain fueling his legs, pounding and pounding as he ran.  Angry lines shaped his face.  It would _not end here._


	2. Clarice's Angels

The terminal was busy and bustling. Dulles was always besieged by a throng of travelers and today was no exception. That was good; it would make evading the press easier. Clarice Starling, like most FBI agents, had a love-hate relationship with the press. When it came time to transporting suspects, it was definitely closer to the hate side of the coin. Fortunately, high security arrangements weren't necessary. Actually, Clarice thought, it was a failure of the op that they weren't. She would have traded the media circus for having caught their main prey. 

But half a loaf was better than none. Clarice had been very nervous about this operation. She'd recently been promoted, and the Lecter task force was hers. Her first position of authority, one long overdue, but still cherished. She had been determined to have it run smoothly. And it largely had. She hadn't gone to Germany herself for the arrest of Dr. Lecter. That had bugged her to no end, but she had been adamant. If Dr. Lecter – or Dr. Lander, for that matter – had seen her there, it could have blown everything. She'd run the operation from remote, in phone contact. The German BKA had been helpful in making sure communications were open. And she had confidence in her people. Well, the people she'd _sent, _anyway. 

And even if she hadn't caught the good doctor, she had the next best thing. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought of the shock she'd felt the night that they had finally cracked the identity of the Linds. She had known all along that Erin Lander had left the country, most probably to be with Lecter. But _married? _Dear God. She could not think of the younger woman as Dr. Lecter's wife. The idea of Dr. Lecter even having a wife seemed somehow ludicrous, unbelievable. The man collected church collapses as a hobby. Cannibalism was perfectly okay but rudeness was not. He planned to sell crucifixion watches, with Jesus's arms revolving to tell the time. Picturing Dr. Lecter as a married man was impossible. 

Occasionally, as she waited in the airport, the thought _It could have been me _would creep into her head when thinking of Erin Lander as Dr. Lecter's wife. The thought was not pleasant and bothered her. Dr. Lecter would have discarded such a thought down the oubliette of his memory palace. Clarice Starling employed a different schema: whenever the thought crept into her consciousness, she called the Brain Police and had the thought led away in handcuffs and leg-irons. Regrettably the thought managed to escape its captors and re-enter her consciousness far too easily. But she had a job to do. 

Unfortunately for Clarice, the job involved the young man standing next to her. His eyes were excited as he watched the gate. He bounced up and down on his heels and tapped his feet impatiently, as if that would make the taxiing plane get to the gate faster. He shared an excited smile at her. Clarice did not so much smile back as jerk and relax her cheek muscles. 

_Of all the things I hate about running this task force, _she thought, _babysitting Agent Twerpy has got to be in the top five. _

Agent William Petrie smiled ecstatically as he watched the big Boeing wheel up to the gate. He glanced over at Starling as they waited. He had been disappointed when they told him he wasn't going to Berlin. Not disappointed enough to contact his uncle Harold – whom the rest of the FBI knew as Director Tunberry – but still disappointed. But hey! He got to be at the airport when they offloaded the bad guy! Bad girl, he mentally amended; Dr. Lecter had gotten away clean. But Dr. Lander was better than nothing. He wondered if Starling was going to interrogate Dr. Lander, and if he would get to be there when she did. He bet he could get her talking. 

"This is so cool," he muttered under his breath. 

Clarice Starling sighed. Petrie was annoying, but the two most annoying things about him were that he didn't seem to realize how twerpy he looked to the outside world, and he wasn't doing it deliberately. He was honestly excited to be part of the task force. He hadn't gone running to his uncle when he wasn't sent to Berlin. He'd honestly thought that it was better to have caught Dr. Lander than nothing at all. He'd tried to help out and be a team player. So she couldn't help but feel petty and catty when she thought of him as Agent Twerpy. But dammit, the boy _was _a twerp. There was something about his enthusiasm that seemed to be like biting on tinfoil. All she could do was try and force herself to be fair and hope like hell he outgrew this before she could finally take no more and shot him dead where he bounced.

Even this. Several of her agents were on that plane, as well as Erin Lander. Hannibal Lecter was not. Clarice could have come up with several different ways to describe her feelings on the matter. "So cool" was not one of them. Officially speaking, they had failed. The goal of the op was the reapprehension of Hannibal Lecter. Not only did he remain free, but now he was aware they were close, and he would flee. Erin Lander could potentially be useful, but Clarice was not terribly interested in jailing

[_her rival]_

[Brain police, please!]

a woman whose only real crimes were victimless. Identity theft, yes, but identity theft of a dead woman. Angela Brinkley was several years in her grave, killed by a drunk driver at the beginning of her residency. It wouldn't have mattered a shred to her that Erin had taken her identity. 

It was Clarice's curse to be all too aware of what she had done here: instead of catching the monster she'd sworn to catch, she'd captured a woman who hadn't harmed a soul, kidnapped her back to her country of origin, and planned to try and force her to give up her husband to her captors. It had to be done, but it wasn't her proudest moment as an FBI agent. 

The mechanical gate rolled towards the plane and attached itself to the side of the plane. Agent Petrie bounced on his heels. Clarice gritted her teeth and tried to remember that Petrie was still very young, fresh out of the Academy, and how excited she had been to work on the Buffalo Bill case. But if _she _had looked so…well…_twerpy _back then, she would heartily apologize to anyone she'd worked with. 

Passengers began deplaning. Agent Petrie bounced faster. Clarice wondered if they had Erin Lander in leg irons. If so, she wanted to take them off the doctor and fasten them on her hyper agent.

"They won't be off yet," Clarice said gently. "They'll take her off last." 

"Okay," Agent Petrie said, and looked vaguely hurt. 

After those travelers on the plane who had not traveled at the behest of the FBI were off, Clarice saw a knot of people walking through the gate. It was obvious that they were FBI; the dark suits, the determined walk. There was an air of determination in defeat about them. They seemed like a pack of lions, bringing their leader the rabbit they had successfully caught instead of the wildebeest they were supposed to catch. But there was some dignity in how they presented their catch to the pack leader. 

Erin Lander stood in the middle of the phalanx of agents. Most of them were taller than her, and she seemed quite meek and cowed in their midst. She wore the same suit she had been wearing when captured. She looked different, Starling noticed. Mostly it was the hair – blonde instead of her normal black. She must've gone to a good salon; it looked natural. Her face was different – surgery, probably, not collagen. Starling wondered idly if she had done it herself, and if that was possible. But the shape of her eyes was different, as was the nose. Clarice had seen the new face before, on Angela Lind's _Ausweis _and passport. 

She wore the same dark blue suit that she had worn at the time of her capture. It was a quite fine cut, far more expensive than those of her captors. Looking at her, one might have thought she was an FBI agent herself. The suit was a bit wrinkled, but that was understandable, as Dr. Lander had been obliged to wear it in her holding cell in Germany and then again on the plane. Her wrists were cuffed in front of her, attached to a black nylon belt circling her waist. Her eyes met Starling's. She said nothing, simply closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. Her shoulders slumped just a bit. 

"Dr. Lander," Clarice said coolly. "Welcome back to the United States. It's good to see you." 

Erin simply met her eyes with no flinching for several moments before replying. "I wish I could say the same," she said. "Well, congratulations, Agent Starling. Well played. Are you pleased with yourself?" 

"I'm not your enemy, Dr. Lander," Clarice said evenly. "And I do want to talk to you, but now isn't the time or place." 

"Of course not," Erin rejoined, "Your gun is still in its holster." 

Clarice pressed her lips together. "Dr. Lander, I'll ask you to be civil," she said, her voice tight. She did not want to have to explain to the agents under her that yes, in fact, she had once pressed the muzzle of her gun against Erin Lander's cheek. Particularly the one who already was flashing angry eyes at her. She sighed. DeGould was already mad at her. Probably because of the last minute change in assignments. Well, DeGould could deal for right now. 

Erin turned to the agents hemming her in. Not DeGould, Starling noticed. Well, that made sense. That was why DeGould had been pulled off escort detail in the first place. Erin carefully avoided Agent DeGould. She didn't blame Erin. Then Erin spoke, and she found herself less sympathetic.. 

"You know, if you guys are ever down and wounded, and a doctor's treating you, be careful of this one," she said conversationally. "She'll pull--," 

That was it. Erin Lander could make whatever cutting comments about Starling she wanted to her face, but disrespecting her to her troops was quite another thing. And the reference to Paul D'angelo hit Clarice in a weak spot she'd forgotten was there. Clarice stepped forward and hauled Erin out of the protective cordon by an arm. 

"That's enough, doctor," Clarice said, her voice tightly controlled. _Thank you so much, goddam it, you just **had **to do that in front of DeGould, didn't you? Maybe I ought to just let you rot in jail, anyway. _ "I'm being civil to you. You give me the same privilege." 

Erin was at first surprised to be roughly handled, but regained her composure as easily as she did her balance. Her eyes met Starling's, cool dark brown – almost black – meeting Clarice's angry blue. 

"Or you'll do what, Agent Starling?" she asked. "Shoot me?" 

"No," Clarice said, and thought that Erin must have learned a bit of manipulation from 

_[her husband]_

Dr. Lecter. 

"No, I'm not going to shoot you," Clarice said exasperatedly. "Just be quiet for now, if you're going to be rude." 

Erin Lander smirked at her captor and fell silent. She let Clarice lead her through the airport to outside, where two dark Crown Victorias waited by the large doors. Clarice installed her prisoner in the back seat of one and then turned back to her small group. 

"Garwood, Myers, you run her over to the jail and get her booked in," Clarice directed. "Petrie, DeGould, you're with me." She slid behind the wheel of the second Crown Victoria and waited for her younger agents to get in the backseat. 

Petrie shut up, thankfully, sitting behind the empty passenger seat. Maybe he was disappointed. Perhaps the big bad bust wasn't everything it had been. Well, he was quiet, and when he was quiet he was less twerpy. So she'd give him points for that. 

Clarice looked up into the rearview and into a set of angry blue eyes sparkling at her from the back seat. She took a deep breath and summoned up the automatic extra measure of patience she mustered when dealing with Special Agent Rebecca DeGould. 

She observed the younger woman's patrician, delicate features. They were pursed into an expression of displeasure. Rebecca DeGould was the youngest daughter of Charles DeGould, a well-known Wall Street investment tycoon. She hadn't had much truck with the idea of being made to do things she didn't want to do until she had joined the FBI, which she had done largely to declare her independence from her father. Rebecca DeGould was accustomed to getting what she wanted, and didn't cope terribly well with not getting it. 

Had that been all – had DeGould simply been the spoiled-brat daughter of a rich man, slumming it up in the FBI for a few years – Clarice would never have recruited her for the Lecter task force. No, it had to be harder than that. Rebecca was a good sleuth. When she had an idea, she would work tirelessly until it was exhausted. She was good at figuring out things that Dr. Lecter might like. Her knowledge of the rarified tastes of the idle rich was far better than Clarice's. And when she wanted to be, she could be as diligent and selfless as the job demanded. But only when she wanted to be.

But now she was staring at Starling with that sour-little-girl look that she got whenever she was angry. Clarice sighed. _That look might've scored you a Beemer from your daddy, but it won't get you squats with me, kiddo, _she thought. 

"Something wrong, Agent DeGould?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral. 

Rebecca let out a long, measured sigh. 

"I was…just wondering why I got pulled off escort detail at the last minute," Rebecca said just as neutrally. "I mean, you went over and over it, if we got her you wanted female escorts for her on the plane, didn't want Justice getting mad, and all. And then I get pulled off the detail an hour before we left." 

"It was the appropriate thing to do," Clarice said calmly. "She maced you in Berlin." 

"I see," Rebecca said archly, like a district attorney standing before a patently guilty criminal. "Yes, I do remember that. It's kind of hard to forget. But I don't quite follow this. She maced me, so I get punished?" 

"It wasn't punishment, DeGould," Clarice said, enjoying the FBI custom of referring to lower-ranking agents by their last names only. "She maced you to try and get away. Having you sit next to her on a plane for several hours, with her in handcuffs…it wasn't appropriate, not when there were other agents there." She did not add that she wanted Erin Lander to be scared, but not _too _scared. 

"You think I'd have done something to get back at her? Worked her over on the plane, maybe?" Rebecca's voice was flat. "I thought I might at least have the chance to defend myself against an accusation like that." 

Clarice Starling sighed through her teeth. "It's not an accusation. It's not implying you're an ineffective agent. It is about the _appearance _of impropriety. Sometimes the best thing you can do is bow out quietly, DeGould. Trust me, if I have a problem with your performance, you'll know about it." 

Rebecca nodded. Then she continued. "Also, I was wondering why she's going to jail anyway. I mean, after all, you're just going to move her to Quantico anyway. Why waste the time?" 

Clarice chuckled. Normally, she would have let a suspect stew for a couple of days in lockdown. That wasn't an option with Dr. Lander. Time was of the essence. 

"That's part of the dance we do, Agent DeGould," she said. "It's worth learning. You want them to have a taste of what prison is like. Get 'em in a jail uniform, let 'em get frisked and cuffed, let 'em spend a little bit of time in a cell. Normally, yeah, I'd let her have a day or so, but there isn't time, so we'll see if a few hours does the trick. So she'll know what she's in for if she doesn't cooperate. And the only way she gets to go to Quantico is if she cooperates." 

"Big if," Rebecca observed. "When are we going to make her the offer?" 

"_I _am going to make her the offer later this afternoon," Clarice said. "You have a 302 to write." The urge to add _young lady _occurred to her and she forced it back down. 

"I'll help you with that," Petrie offered suddenly. Then, perhaps noting her expression, he looked down. "I mean…well…if you want." 

Clarice sighed again. _He's just trying to help. Probably trying to defuse things. Be nice, Clarice. _ But when it came down to it, running this task force was akin to babysitting. It was a lot more trying than she would have ever thought. 

"That's all right, Agent Petrie," she said authoritatively. "These things go better one on one." She would have to find something for Petrie to do; he was trying. But he was just a twerp. Petrie nodded dumbly and looked out the window. 

The Crown Victoria zipped through traffic from the airport to Quantico. Clarice dropped off her agents and headed down to her office. It was much larger than the converted darkroom she had used, and she liked it. Finally, with no Krendler to poison the promotions board against her, she was beginning to get back to where she belonged. It had been her work that had finally pinpointed the Drs. Lind to Germany, and her reward had been to be appointed head of the newly formed Lecter task force. 

On the desk was a file, which Clarice began to peruse as soon as she sat down behind her desk. The results of the combined FBI-BKA search of the Linds' mansion in Wannsee: copies of forms, seized papers, and photographs. Clarice flipped through it and then stopped. She stared down at the piece of paper in her hands. Her knuckle rose to her mouth in shock, and she blinked. The piece of yellow paper simply could not be. Couldn't. This…no. No, it couldn't be. She had to have misread it. The penciled translation had to be wrong. 

On her bookshelf was a German-English dictionary, which she'd gotten the day she knew that Dr. Lecter was living in Germany. She flipped through it and traced down the rows of words. Her stomach hitched as she saw the word she sought and its English counterpart. Yes, dear God, it was correct. 

"Oh my God," Clarice Starling said in the stillness.


	3. Rock and a Hard Place

                Clarice Starling glanced up at the outside of the jail, looming over the landscape like a squat behemoth.  Night was falling, and the jail seemed to brood over her, waiting to swallow her up as it had so many people.  She entered through the front doors.  The guard seated at the front desk looked at her quizzically.  

                "I'm Special Agent Clarice Starling," she said, displaying her ID.  "I'm here to talk to Erin Lander." 

                The guard consulted his sheet.  "New inmate?"  His voice held a Southern twang, and she smiled at hearing it, two Southerners as diligent cogs in the system.   

                "Yep," she said.  "Brought in today.  She's on a federal material witness warrant.  FBI should've spoken to you, or maybe your sergeant." 

                He shifted in his seat.  "Oh, wait," he said.  "Is that the one with a custody transfer?" 

                "Yeah," Clarice said.  "But it's pending." 

                He grabbed a pen and filled out something on a cardboard tag which he handed to her.  "Here you go, Agent Starling, have a price tag."  

                Clarice grinned and took the tag and clipped it to her lapel.  It did look like a price tag.  The guard spoke to someone on the phone and smiled at her.  

                "Have a seat," the guard urged.  "They'll just be a minute." 

                Clarice sat down on the offered seat.  A few moments later, another guard showed up through the doorway and looked over at her.  

                "Agent Starling?" he asked. Clarice nodded and stood.  The guard gestured for her to follow him. 

                "Come on with me, now," he said.  "Now there are a couple of things we need to do.  Security, y'know." 

                Clarice shrugged.  "Whatever you gotta do," she said indifferently.  "You need to look through the briefcase?" 

                The guard nodded and had the good grace to look a bit embarrassed.  "That and…um…we gotta frisk you.  I can call down a lady guard if you want, but we only got a few on this shift and it'd be a bit." 

                Clarice thought about it for a moment.  "Nah," she said, "you go ahead, you're a professional."  Privately she was quite glad she had worn pants today. She turned around, put her briefcase down, and raised her arms.  The guard was quite professional as he patted her down; Clarice knew very well the difference between a professional frisk and a disguised grope.   The guard halted at her keys and gun.  He let her keep the keys but told her to leave the gun at the desk.   She handed over her briefcase to him and he rooted through it with a pen.  The guard scowled down at the contents.  

                "You're not supposed to take those with you," he said, pointing down at the orange bottles in the bottom of the briefcase.  "Regulations." 

                Clarice sighed.  "This prisoner's got some medical need," she said.  "Kidney transplant patient."

                "She's got to go to the infirmary," the guard said, and shrugged. 

                "Look," Clarice said, and smiled. "I'm not trying to hassle you, here.  I know you've got your rules.  But you and I both know the infirmary isn't going to have this in stock and they'll fumble it.  Now this prisoner needs this medication now.  Not tomorrow, not next week, now." 

                "Ma'am, I don't make the rules," he said calmly. 

                "Call your sergeant, then.   Or a lieutenant.  But I'll tell you this now, Officer – the FBI is very interested in this inmate.  We want her to cooperate with us on a pretty high-profile investigation.   Now if she ends up in the hospital with an immune response….well, some people high up in the FBI would be pretty mad at you guys.  Mad enough to reconsider whether or not you ought to have a contract with us." 

                "I can't do anything about that, ma'am," the guard said apologetically. 

                "We might also decide to launch a civil rights investigation into the civil rights of federal prisoners housed in this jail," Clarice continued.  "I'll bet you ten bucks that some guards here are some bad apples.  Beat up on the male inmate and harass the females.   Betcha another ten bucks that I can find some inmates who'll talk to us about it.  You think your records won't hold up to serious examination by a judge?  Use of force reports and all?  Filled out each and every time, the way the rules say?    If we got inmates willing to talk to us about that…" Clarice smiled and shook her head.  "Might be a few of your friends and co-workers end up on the other side of the bars.  Now I know you've got your rules, but I am an FBI agent, these are not addictive drugs, they're bona fide medication.  All you have to do is let me bring it in and give it to her." 

                The guard sighed.  "All right, all right," he said.  "But I didn't hear anything.  If she gets caught with it, it's contraband."  

                "If everything goes as I hope," Clarice said, "she won't be a problem for you but for maybe another twenty minutes."  

                "Visiting area's over here," the guard said, pointing. 

                "I'd like to talk to her in a contact situation," she added.  "This isn't a friendly visit, Officer.  It's part of an ongoing federal investigation.  Very high profile." 

                "Lecter, huh?" the guard said.  

                Clarice was not too surprised.  The _Tattler had gotten ahold of the story.  She'd been able to stick Erin in jail without them getting to her, but they'd run a picture of Erin from somewhere anyway.  The story of the FBI's capture of Dr. Lecter's wife was of great interest to the __Tattler.  _

                "I'm not at liberty to say," she explained. 

                "Yeah, I guess," the guard said, and led her through the halls to a room with a scarred wooden table.  One fluorescent light guttered on and off overhead.  The guard waved at the table and grinned.  

                "We got to go get her," he said.  "Just be a minute." 

                It was more like fifteen minutes, and Clarice passed her time tapping her foot and examining the paperwork she had brought with her.  The offer she had was more than fair.  Her higher-ups had approved it, but they clearly thought that Clarice was giving away the farm.  They wanted Hannibal Lecter behind bars, though, and that was enough to get the sign-off.  They didn't know everything, including the main reasons why she was doing this.  

                Erin Lander appeared in the doorway, flanked by two guards, one male, one female. She wore an orange jail jumpsuit and her hands were cuffed behind her. She sighed when she saw Clarice and closed her eyes.  She seemed different somehow.  There would be no smart-mouth coming from her anymore.  Her lips were pale and she was trembling.  Clarice recognized the signs of fear – almost terror – and wondered briefly.  The guards brought her into the room and told her to sit in the chair.  

                "You can take the handcuffs off," Clarice said.  "We're gonna be here a while." 

                The female guard shook her head.  "No.  Regulations." 

                Clarice sighed in exasperation.  On the one hand, this helped; it made her look good to Erin, which would help.  On the other hand, regulations in this jail seemed tailor-made to ensure that inmates would be angry and antagonistic.  No wonder informants were so hard to come by.  She was already tense and nervous; this wasn't making it any easier.  God only knew what Erin must be thinking.

                "She's not violent and she weighs ninety-five pounds," Clarice said cuttingly.  "I'm a graduate of the FBI Academy.  I don't know about you folks, but I'll take my chances."  

                The woman flushed.  "It's regulations, Agent Starling, all inmates stay cuffed in contact visits." 

                "Take 'em off her," Clarice said evenly, "or get me your lieutenant." 

                "He's busy." 

                "Ah, OK," Clarice said.  "Tell you what."   She dug in her pocket for her cell phone.  "I'll just get on my phone here and call the US District Attorney, along with the section chief I report to, and tell them--,"  She squinted at the officer's plastic nameplate.  "Officer…Walker is making my interview with Dr. Lander harder than it needs to be, and her lieutenant is too _busy to discuss this with me."  She smiled coolly at the uniformed woman, who scowled back. _

                "Fine," she said, and crossed the room.  "Long as you know I'm not gonna feel sorry for you if she jumps you.  Little don't mean _shit, Agent Starling, you ought to know that."  _

                "I took down men twice her size on the street," Clarice said drily.  "I'll take my chances." 

                The woman removed Erin Lander's handcuffs, glaring at Clarice from behind her prisoner.   Erin did not move as the cuffs were unlocked.  She seemed nervous.  _Probably thinks the jailer's gonna take it out on her after, _Clarice thought.   Then the guard left.  She seemed quite miffed, jingling the restraints in one hand.  The door slammed shut and Clarice rolled her eyes before smiling at the woman across the table.   

                "Hi," Clarice said pleasantly.  "Is that better, Dr. Lander?" 

                Erin Lander let out a humorless chuckle, tinged with horror.  Yes, something had spooked her. "Were you…were you expecting gratitude?" she asked.  "After what you've done to me?" 

                Clarice tilted her head.  "You were arrested on a standard material witness warrant, Dr. Lander," she said.  "You have the right to an attorney and all.  But I want to talk to you, and trust me, you want to listen." 

                "Listen?" Erin riposted incredulously.  "You know, when I left the country, there were laws about having to go in front of a judge before you're punished, and something about cruel and unusual punishment, too."  She shook her head slowly, her eyes blank.  "But things change, I guess."  Her eyes floated back to Starling's and met hers before floating off.  "God," she said.  Her voice was blank and gravelly, the voice of someone gradually realizing the reality of something so horrible it cannot be imagined.

                "Is there something wrong?" Clarice said, although she suspected she knew what it was. 

                "Don't you know?  Weren't you in on it?" Erin stared blankly at the concrete wall behind Starling. 

                "Try me," Clarice said.  "Maybe I can help." 

                Erin's eyes met Clarice's, and Clarice was struck by the misery and horror in her eyes.  For just a moment she swallowed.  Then Erin seemed to weigh something in her mind, and decided she had nothing to  lose.   

                "They're not going to give me my medication," Erin said softly.  "My immune suppressants."  Her eyes shifted off Starling's.  "They said it would take a week…if I got them at all.  By then I'll be in full blown immune response.  Or dead."   After a few moments, she added, "I'm going to lose my transplant." 

                Clarice nodded.  "That's terrible, Dr. Lander," she said.  "You must be terrified." 

                Erin shrugged.  She seemed more in emotional shock than terrified, Clarice saw.  She had seen this before.  Erin was still adjusting to her status as a prisoner, grasping the idea that she was just a number now, and no one seemed to care too much what happened to her.  Which was where Clarice came in. 

                "Dr. Lander, I'd like to talk to you, as I said," Clarice said calmly.  "I know we've had some run-ins in the past, and you don't like me too much.  So I'll tell you what.  How about a show of good faith?" 

                Erin Lander stared blankly at her. 

                "Here," Clarice said, and removed the vials from her purse.  "These are the same medications that we found in your house in Germany." She laid them out.  "If any are missing, let me know.  I have a doctor on standby, and I can have anything you need in about twenty minutes run time."  Next to it she laid a bottle of mineral water she had bought at a convenience store not far from Quantico.   "Want some water?  There you go." 

                Erin looked at the pill bottles warily, as if they might contain rat poison.  She opened one bottle, and spilled a capsule out onto her shaking palm.  She observed it, flipped it over to read the maker's mark, and then her eyes went back up to meet Clarice's.  

                "What are these for?" she asked distrustfully. 

                Clarice shrugged.  "Two reasons, really.  First off, a show of good faith."  She waved a hand.  "Go ahead, take them. That should be enough medication for two days." 

                "Thank you," Erin said, still looking warily at Clarice.  "What filled you with the milk of human kindness?" 

                "As I said before, Dr. Lander, I want to have a discussion with you," Clarice said.  "Now I know that not having your medication must've been frightening.  Hell, terrifying.  I can understand that.   Nobody could think straight with something like that on their mind."  She leaned forward then.  "I came here for a reason, you know that.  I need to have a little dialogue with you about your situation here, Dr. Lander, and I can't do that with you being preoccupied about your health.  Those medications are yours.  Take 'em.  Show of good faith.  To show you I'm not your enemy here, and I'm not interested in tormenting you.  But I _do want to talk to you, Dr. Lander, and so the show of good faith I'm gonna ask you for in return is to listen."  _

                Erin's gaze was just as wary as before, but she was indeed listening.  Good.  Clarice plunged forward.  

                "You're currently being held on a material witness warrant," Clarice explained.  "No charges.  We can charge you with plenty, though – the fake passport in the Angela Brinkley name, the DEA certificate you applied for in her name so you could handle controlled substances.  Now, Dr. Lander, you ought to know that you do have the right to an attorney, and you do have the right to go before a judge to determine whether or not we need to detain you.  Realistically, though, that won't get you out.  You've fled the country before, and all we need to do is charge you anyway, and poof, back behind bars you go.  You got a fake US passport in your dead roommate's name, for one, and that's all we need." 

                Clarice smiled coolly.  "Look," she said. "Your time is now.  We came this close to getting Dr. Lecter.  We got you instead.  Now this can go easy as you want or this can go hard as you want.  It's all up to you."

                "What do you want?" Erin Lander asked bluntly. 

                "Tell me where Dr. Lecter is," Clarice responded just as bluntly.  "What you know about him.  Where he would go." 

                Erin closed her mouth and hitched. She pushed the pill vials back across the table at Clarice.  

                "Here.  Take 'em," she said directly. 

                Clarice looked down at the bottles and then back up at the other woman.  

                "I don't want those, Dr. Lander," she said.  "I don't need 'em, either.  Those are for you.  Now listen, Dr. Lander.  Will you at least hear me out?" 

                Erin fell silent and watched her adversary. 

                "You're going to be detained for the time being.  That you might as well get used to.  I've got that fake passport charge on your head, and if that falls through, I can go through whatever federal DEA permits and such you applied for in your Angela Brinkley identity.  The Germans are holding back on prosecuting you for lying to obtain German citizenship, but that's because of us.   The question, Doctor, is how comfortable you want to be." 

                "Agree to cooperate with the investigation, and you won't be detained here.  You'd be detained at the FBI facility at Quantico.  We've held cooperating witnesses there before.  It's not too bad. A lot better than here, in fact.  We can be pretty nice to cooperating witnesses, you know." 

                "I'm not selling out my husband," Erin said flatly.  "That's insane.  And if you think a judge will let you get away with holding my health hostage –" 

                Clarice shrugged.  "Then take your chances, doctor.  But you'll need a good attorney and you'll have to file papers, and by the time the judge orders the prison to give you the medication it'll be too late, won't it?" 

                "Then take them, if they mean that much to you," Erin snapped.  "Take me to the hospital and remove the damn kidneys.  I'll go back on dialysis. Did it for years." 

                "That isn't what I want," Clarice pointed out.  "What I want is your cooperation." 

                "No."  Her face turned almost beseeching.  "Starling…he's my _husband."_

_                "I know," Clarice said.  "Is he here?  No, he's out there living it up. It's you who's in a cell."  Her voice turned a bit kinder. _

                "What I can offer you is a lot more comfort and shorter time.  We'd hold you until Lecter was caught…and we _will catch him, Dr. Lander.  If we catch him without your help, you get nothing."  She strode on ahead, not waiting for a response.  "At Quantico, we've got a little room we keep witnesses in. More like a hotel room.  No bars.  You'd be allowed to have your own clothes, not jail uniforms.  TV and radio…reasonable access to books…plus, I can let you have some time outside.  Real outside, with grass and trees and such, not just a fenced in dog run in the middle of a concrete yard.   Subject to security, of course, but a lot better than here.  We would hold you until Dr. Lecter was caught.  If you stay here, you'll stay here until he's caught __and tried.  That could take years, instead of a few months.  I can also arrange for a government stipend, and a new identity and resettlement.  Medical license in any state you want, any name you want.  The stipend is good for two years, more than enough time to get yourself settled."  _

                Erin Lander shook her head and smiled, as if Clarice was insane.  "You forgot the yearly trip to the hoof and mouth disease center," she said sarcastically.  "I'm disappointed." 

                "This is a legit offer," Clarice replied.  She took some papers from her briefcase.  "Check it out yourself – that's the United States District Attorney's signature.  You can call him yourself if you like – he knows what's going on."  She held out her FBI cell phone, which Erin simply looked at.

                "Dr. Lander, I can't make you cooperate.  What I can do is give you your life back.  You're a young woman, you've still got your life ahead of you."  She sighed.  "That passport charge?  That's ten years.  Ten years of your life in a federal pen.  Any federal document you signed with her name, that's another five, maybe ten years.  I can go to the states, too – State of Ohio doesn't know yet that Erin Lander and Angela Brinkley were the same person, but we can tell 'em.  You're staring down twenty, maybe thirty years." 

                That appeared to rock the younger woman.  But still she was resolute.  Clarice decided to try again. 

                "Dr. Lander, if I take you to Quantico, you won't need to worry about medical treatment.  I can get you whatever you need.  You've seen the doctors here – they suck, don't they?   Two kinds of doctors work in prisons: incompetents or convicted criminals themselves.  For example, you might end up working here, after you got done serving your sentence.  You're right; you'd lose your transplant.  And you probably would have problems with dialysis – they'd have to take you somewhere, to do it, and they don't want to bother.  The doctor you saw – the one who told you it'd be a week…I ran a check on him.  He's got a prior for rape.  You'd end up having to trade things for medical care no woman should have to trade." 

                Erin Lander sighed.  "Starling…you don't understand.  He's my _husband.  I love him.  I can't sell him out."  Her voice hitched and was a bit thicker.  "No matter __what you do to me, I just…I can't.  Haven't you ever loved anyone?  Or is all you love your job?" _

                Clarice sighed back and stood, walking around the room.   The comment had hit her in a unexpectedly vulnerable place.  "I know you do," she said.  "And I know that given your choice, you'd do twenty years for him and you'd be excited if he wrote you a letter once a month.  But sometimes it's about who needs you more." 

                Erin Lander tensed in her chair.  _Good, Clarice thought.  She was still resisting, but she was scared.  Now it was time to play the trump card.  Clarice felt guilty for having to play it, but she had no choice.  _

                "I promised you much better medical care than what you'll get here.  And I suggest you think about that for a good long while, Dr. Lander, before you tell me no.  Instead of some ex-con who can only get a job in a prison, I can promise you the medical staff over at Georgetown.  World class.  And while you were in FBI custody, the FBI would see to the expenses.  Every dime."  

                Erin seemed to relax a bit.  She thought Clarice didn't know.  Clarice felt an awful wrench of guilt and took a deep breath to fortify herself.  Time to do it now, throw the smaller woman into the emotional meat grinder.  But it was all for the best intentions.  That _had to mean something. _

                From her jacket pocket Clarice Starling took a small piece of flexible plastic.  

                "The FBI would also arrange for any _other type of special care you might need during your time with us," she began.  "Not just the transplant.  Your standard physical…gyno…,or….," her voice tightened up for a moment.  This was __not going to be pretty.  This was playing dirty.  Paul Krendler would have gloried in it.  But Clarice didn't care for such things, so she found herself hitching. _

                "Or," she began again, "or pre-natal." 

                Erin Lander clapped a hand to her face and began to cry softly.   Her other hand covered her lower abdomen protectively.  Protecting the one thing on earth that might have more sway over her than Hannibal Lecter.

                Clarice hated herself for what she was about to say, but she had to do it. It would all be OK, she thought.  Once Erin had realized what she had to do, what she was looking at, Clarice could help her. 

                "We knew," Clarice said.  She dropped the small picture on the table in front of Erin, where she could see it.  Her pseudonym of Angela Lind was printed on one side, along with a date of two weeks ago, and a bunch of numbers that Clarice did not know the meaning of.  In the center, however, was a tiny, shadowy figure, curled up in a ball, tiny legs kicking.  "We found out when we searched the mansion.  How far along are you?  Ten weeks? Twelve?"  

                Time to play hardass.  Oh God, she wasn't going to be able to sleep tonight after she did this.  _I have to, she thought.  __I'm doing this for the right reasons.  It's for her own good, it's better if she throws in with us. For both of them.  _

                "You know trials take a lot longer than babies, especially because Lecter would try every trick in the book," she said.  "If you have this baby in prison, you won't get squats for pre-natal care, you won't get decent nutrition.  This is jail, it's not supposed to be nice.  It's for bad people.  I know you're not a bad person.  Trust me, I see them every day.  And I know you want the very best start you can get.  For your baby.  Think about your baby, Dr. Lander." 

                Erin placed a hand over her eyes and  her shoulders shook silently. 

                "If we have to play rough with you, we will, but don't force us," Clarice added.  "You know if you have the baby in jail, they'll take it away from you.  Put it in foster care.  Your baby's innocent, Dr. Lander, your baby needs you.  Dr. Lecter doesn't need you.  He may want you, but he's an adult.  He can take care of himself. Your baby needs you now, needs you more than anything."  

"And there are…there are some very serious charges we can bring down on you.   You'd lose all that time with your baby, you'd be serving your sentence.  Think about that…by the time you saw your baby again, he'd be an adult.  And what could you possibly say when your baby asked you why?  Knowing you didn't have to give him up?  Knowing you could've kept him yourself?  Are you going to tell him that it was so Hannibal Lecter could stay free?"  

                The room was broken by Erin Lander's deep, wracking sobs, the unlovely sounds of a woman whose last emotional bulwark has been breached.  One hand remained over her eyes; the other clutched the ultrasound picture of her baby desperately.   She bent almost in half, low over the table, as she quaked with tears and hysteria.  Clarice stayed silent for a few moments.  The discovery that Erin Lander was pregnant had been a shock to her, but also a boon. For only that might convince Erin to betray Dr. Lecter.   Any other emotions Clarice had felt she had firmly squelched off.  What mattered was getting Erin's cooperation.  

                "God, I hate you," Erin managed through her tears.  "I was so _happy. I had everything I wanted.__  And you had to ruin it all.  How do you live with your se-heh-helf…?" _

                "You can hate me, Erin," Clarice said, and her throat had closed down to a tiny passage.  Unlike Paul Krendler, she had the morals and self-knowledge to feel guilt over what she was doing.  "That's okay. I've got a thick skin, I can take it.  But you have to ask yourself—and I think you know the answer—whether or not you love your baby more than you hate me."  

                "Say the word, Erin. Say the word and I'll take you out of here. I'll give you your life back.  The USDA won't charge you, he doesn't care that much.  We'll get you back in your own clothes, I'll take you to Quantico, and I'll take you to a doctor in the morning.  Let me help you, Erin.  Let me help your baby." 

                Clarice Starling crossed back and put her hand on the weeping woman's shoulder.  The next words she spoke went unnoticed by either of them.  Erin Lander was beyond listening, her worst nightmares thrown into reality and dancing malevolently in front of her.  Clarice's conscious mind had no idea what she said next; the words were spoken by a quiet child's voice in the back of her mind.

                "Let me save your lamb." 

                _      _


	4. Travels & Messages

Dr. Lecter found his compartment comfortable but not luxuriant.  That was fine, all things considered. Traveling incognito was necessary at time like this.  There was no one else in the compartment; he had reserved it all the way through.  He did not want to be bothered.   He had always liked the European rail system. For one thing, it made anonymous travel extremely easy.  

                He laid his head back against the headrest and listened to the not unpleasant sound of the train moving swiftly through the French countryside.  The train ride from Germany had been fairly quick, all things considered, but it still took a while to get from Berlin to Paris.  A plane would have been quicker, but he knew very well that airport security everywhere would have his picture.  It was possible that they had a picture of his latest face. This time, he had not used collagen.  His wife had carefully sculpted a new face for him out of the old, her scalpel and sutures moving and changing his features.  It had taken a bit more time to heal, but Dr. Lecter much preferred the effects.  

                The speaker overhead sputtered into life, informing Dr. Lecter in French that the Spanish border was nearby.  That was good.  They thought, no doubt, that he would seek out someplace like Paris itself.  And indeed he had, although the city with all its delights had simply been a terminus for him, a place to change trains in the bowels of the main train station.  

                From his briefcase he took a copy of an American trash tabloid – the _National Tattler.  The newsstands in the Paris train station provided a great deal of international media, including this.  He opened it and scanned the headline article.  __PRETTY __BRIDE OF MONSTER CAPTURED BY THE FBI'S KILLING MACHINE, it screamed in 72-point type.  Dr. Lecter had to chuckle.  Below the headline was a picture of each woman.  Dr. Lecter thought that the __Tattler had gone to great extents to suggest Clarice was something she was not.  Her picture was that of her firing a .45 in a pistol competition, the weapon pointing across the page.  The picture of Erin was of her old face, with her hair its natural color.  Dr. Lecter supposed that it had originated at OSU, where she had done her residency. That, he thought, was a rare plus.  Probably Clarice's work – she had worked carefully to make sure that Erin was returned quietly to the U.S.  The authorities might have pictures of Erin's new face, but the __Tattler did not.  He would have to thank her – it would make it much easier to escape with his wife once he got her back.  And he __would get her back. _

                He let his mind play again over her capture, and how angry it had made him.  Still, deep in his heart, he was rather glad that Clarice was involved. He had little confidence in the humanity of the average FBI agent, but Clarice sought to protect her lambs.  If anyone would see to his wife, she would.  The _Tattler article was quite sensationalist and salacious in suggesting that Clarice had captured Erin intending to either jail her or kill her.  It hinted that she had done this out of jealousy.  It surprised him that they would take such a strong stance, but there it was.   He found himself wondering if the paper simply did not like Agent Starling, or if it was a ploy to sell more papers.  This last was more likely.  Whether you searched under the name Erin Lander or Angela Lind, the only crimes she had committed were related to her identity.  The readers of the __Tattler were probably more entertained by the story of a jealousy-crazed FBI agent abusing her power to incapacitate a rival.  Making Erin into a dangerous criminal who needed to be locked away was either beyond the abilities of the __Tattler or, more likely, too hard._

                But he felt it likely that Clarice was more than that.  At the least, he thought, she would see that Erin got the medical care she required.  He wondered what she would think when she discovered that Erin was carrying his child.  Would she be jealous?  Perhaps, yes, but not so jealous as to overcome her patterned behavior.    The plight of the victim drove Clarice, therefore she could not turn her back on her prisoner.  

                He scanned the article, noting that Clarice was now the head of the task force constituted "to hunt down and bring the cannibalistic madman to justice".  How very ironic.  Until he had taken care of the small issue of Paul Krendler that had stymied Clarice's career, she would have never been given such a promotion.  But since Dr. Lecter had shifted that man's position in Clarice's life from antagonist to entree, it seemed it was now possible.  Well, as they said, no good deed went unpunished.  Clarice was out there again, crafting his doom.  Only now, he thought, that fine warrior's mind was set to management, commanding others.  He wondered how she would do at it.   Probably she would pine for the field again, where she did not need to deal with nosy Congressmen and the fragile egos of those under her. 

                His thoughts passed then to his wife.  He wondered where they were holding her.  The unpleasant image of his pretty, pregnant wife falling into Dr. Chilton's clutches appeared in his mind.  The more logical parts of his mind reminded him that Dr. Chilton clutched nothing at all, except for the roots and rushes of the beach at Bermuda where Dr. Lecter had buried him.  But the image was still unpleasantly stuck in his mind.  It took some effort to make the image go away. 

                How odd this all was, Dr. Lecter thought.  In attempting to seek him – and coming _very close, he had to give them that, they had come quite close indeed – they now held his wife, who had harmed no one at all, and by dint of holding her they had his child.  He had committed his own crimes, admittedly; Erin technically had, by dint of her false identity papers.  But their child was innocent.  _

                Dr. Lecter let out a sigh.  First he had to hole up for a bit, prepare himself.  He needed money, identities, and distance from Germany.  Part of him wanted to leave now, but he had to hold himself back – he could not help her if he was caught himself.  The thought of her occupying a prison cell galled him, but if he acted rashly both of them would be occupying one for a much longer time.  He knew his next move.  After that, he was planning. 

                The train clacked through the countryside from France into Spain.  Dr. Lecter sat alone in his compartment, possibilities and strategies flashing through his mind.  Hours passed, and Dr. Lecter neither moved nor spoke.  Finally, the train pulled into his destination.  He rose and disembarked from the train, a man walking swiftly and alone through the station, carrying only a small bag.  Like any train station all over Europe, there were taxis parked nearby, and Dr. Lecter decided to allow himself this small luxury instead of the bus.  

                _"Buenos tardes," the driver greeted him.  _

                "_Buenos tardes," Dr. Lecter replied.  He gave the driver an address of a nice hotel in Torremolinos.  Torremolinos, on the Costa del Sol, one of Spain's biggest tourist areas.  Millions of Englishmen and Germans thronged the beaches every year.  Dr. Lecter would be able to disappear in the crowd quite easily.  After stepping from the taxi, he did just that. _

…

                The room on the fifth floor was comfortable, all things considered.  It resembled a hotel room: a curtained window took up the upper half of one wall.  A double bed occupied the center of the room.  A table and chair stood by the window.  On the table sat a computer, which was surprising.  A few books and magazines were stacked next to it.  There was an attached bathroom.  It was small, but contained a tub, toilet and sink. White tiles decorated the floor of the bathroom; neutral carpet covered the floor of the room.  All in all, it was much more comfortable than a prison cell, but the steel door to the room was still locked.  

                Erin Lander sat on the bed, watching TV and trying to ignore what they were going to make her do.  Her suit was hanging up in the closet, and she wore one of the three sets of scrubs that had been waiting for her in the room when Clarice had brought her in from the jail last night.  They were pink, and this displeased her.  Erin Lander was a doctor, and quite accustomed to the benefits of her middle-high position on the rank of the hospital's hierarchy.  Surgeons wore blue scrubs.  Pink was for nurses.  She wasn't going to complain about it, though.  There were much bigger problems on her plate.   

                Agent Starling had promised her that they would provide her with more clothes; these were just temporary.  So far, Erin had to allow, Starling had followed through.  She'd brought Erin down to release, gotten her clothes back, and brought her back here.  The bed was much more comfortable than the prison bunk. The morning had been a series of appointments with nephrologists and ob-gyns.  She'd been poked and prodded and examined and had an ultrasound.  So far everything checked out normal. The doctors were good, she thought.  They did not seem fazed by the thought of a medically trained pregnant kidney-transplant patient.  Doctors made for the worst patients, and Erin was not an exception to this rule: she was admittedly demanding of her doctors and they had mostly been able to satisfy her.  She'd had to lay down a few ground rules – no residents, no interns – but they had eventually come around.  

                Starling had fed her lunch before coming back, at a restaurant not far from the hospital.  There, she had told Erin that once they were back at Quantico, she would 'let her rest' for a few hours, and then her first debriefing session would take place at four o'clock.  _Debriefing session.  That was a good one.  Quite a euphemism for __We're going to hold you prisoner until you fink on your husband so we can jail him for the rest of his life and leave your baby without a father.  And oh, if you don't play along we'll play games with your health and take away your baby and throw you in jail for the rest of your life too.   _

                Another two agents had come to let her have some time out of the cell, outside.  Starling had held true on that as well:  Erin was allowed to walk around outside and enjoy the sunlight and grass of the base.  She wasn't allowed terribly far from the building, but she had expected that.  Once outside, the reason for the nursey pink scrubs she disliked had become more obvious:  it made her easy to spot against the green background.  Then she had come back here to wait. 

                The clock on the wall read 3:30.  Erin got tired of the soap operas she had been trying in vain to concentrate on and switched to CNN.  She had hoped that news of Dr. Lecter might surface, but there was nothing.  He had done what she knew he would do:  disappear into the ether.  She was happy that he was free – she knew they'd have to let her go _eventually – but she couldn't help but feel abandoned.  While he was out there in the world having a great time, she was being held captive on a heavily secured Marine base without even so much as the ability to make phone calls.  Not like there was anyone to call; her parents were both dead, and she was loath to call anyone from her residency days.  She had been friendly with a few doctors and residents and could probably track them down with a little work, but the thought of saying  "Hi!  Yup, the tabloids are right, I took my dead roommate's identity and lived in Germany married to a serial killer for the past few years.  Now I'm pregnant by him, I got arrested, and I'm being held at Quantico and being forced to cooperate with the investigation to jail my husband.  What's new with you?" made her want to puke.  _

                Feeling bleak and all alone, Erin walked over to her window and pressed her palms against the glass.  A squad of FBI trainees ran on the field by her window.  They were sweating, and the PT instructor behind them was doubtlessly shouting something unpleasant at them.  She did not know for sure:  this cell was so damn _quiet.  No sound from outside pierced its walls.  The windows did not open.   She watched the recruits run silently across the quad.__ They did not realize how fortunate they were: if they didn't want to be here they could pack up and go home.  She had no such luxury._

                _I wish I was still Angela Lind, Erin thought childishly, and felt tears rise behind her closed lids.  __I want to be back in Berlin, where I was happy.  The glass was heavy.  Erin supposed that if this room was used to keep favored prisoners in that it was probably bulletproof.  Like there was anywhere __to go, even if she got out of the cell.  Either FBI or Marines would be on her in a minute.  _

                Erin eyed the PC sitting on the table.  She sat down at it and thought for a moment.  It probably would not have access to the Internet, and even if it did it was almost assuredly monitored.  But she was bored and wanted to get her mind off the fact that she was going to be forced to betray the man she loved, so she clicked on the little blue E and waited. 

                Almost immediately, it opened up and displayed the FBI's home page.  Erin leaned forward and wondered.  She surfed to the National Tattler's website and examined it briefly. It offered only teasers on its main page; the real content was only available to those paying customers.  But that did not stop Erin.  

                She took only a moment or two to consider if she wanted to use the login she had.  After all, her Angela Lind identity _was blown.  So she entered her usename of __alind and her password into the appropriate boxes and began looking for whatever information she could find on her husband.  The only information she was able to find was a lurid article on her own capture, and __that she knew about.  There was some satisfaction to be had, though:  the article referred to Starling as 'The FBI's killing machine' and pointed out that she had 'had her captive moved from the county jail, the normal, lawful place of imprisonment, and taken to an undisclosed location.  Has the 'other woman' in the Cannibal's life dropped off the face of the earth?  Is Agent Clarice Starling's aim part of the investigation…or is it a personal score?" _

                _That gave Erin some pause. Was this some sort of plan Starling had to kill her?  Would she __do that? She had tried before.  She had been angry, Dr. Lecter had explained.  Angry and not thinking straight.  Maybe coming here had been a huge, colossal mistake.   After all, she had no attorney, and no one knew she was here except for Starling and those agents under her.   _

                The thought that this little room might merely be Clarice Starling's killing bottle began to nag at her.  She tried to remind herself that Starling would hardly have gone to the trouble of bringing her to so many doctors.  After all, it was expensive.  

                _What happens to you **after you give him up? a surly, distrustful voice asked.  **__Do you think Agent Starling is **really giving you a new identity and a government stipend? She tried to kill you once.  She may do it again.  Maybe sometime when she lets you out of here to go outside, she'll just take you over a hill and boom, shot while trying to escape.  She wants him all to herself….**_

_                Erin felt her palms begin to sweat.  Part of her wanted to believe that Starling was on the level, but the Tattler article had made her realize just how helpless she was. Starling ran the investigation; Starling had no one overseeing her. The FBI would let her do whatever she wanted.  The courts would not hold her accountable.  Erin was alone, all alone, and completely at Clarice Starling's mercy.  It was a sobering, frightening thought.  _

                She had to get a message to him, she decided.  He would find a way to help her.  He always did.  This computer had to be monitored, she could tell that.  But she knew how she could get a message to him in a way that might not attract their attention.  It might, but she could always claim innocence.  If Starling was going to kill her, it wouldn't matter anyway. 

                She surfed the Web looking for a kidney transplant site.  There were quite a few, but the first two did not have what she was looking for.  The third one did: a message board.  It was a simple matter to create an account and post a question.  She stared at the little white box and typed carefully. 

                From:  E. L.

                Subject: transplant & pregnancy??

                Q:  any nephrologist treat a pregnant woman? I'm on corticosteroids, cyclosporine, and others.  Thanks. 

                She could hear something from down the hall.  Erin trembled.  It would be Starling.  Was she expected to give him up?  What if he wasn't where she thought he would be?  Would Starling just shoot her and be done with it?  Would Starling punish her for trying to get to him?  

                She had to try. Erin clicked 'submit' and waited for the door to open.  She was trembling. 

…

                 Clarice Starling headed from the meeting room up to the elevator.  Behavioral Sciences might be housed below ground, but the cell the FBI kept around for cooperating witnesses was above ground.  It was a nice, quiet area.  The meeting had been boring – reminding her people that the investigation had to go on, that they could not expect Erin Lander to simply give them Dr. Lecter with a ribbon tied around his neck.  

                Clarice sighed. Erin's grudging acceptance of the offer had taken a great weight off her shoulders.  To begin with, Clarice did not think that depriving Erin – or her baby – of health care was appropriate in any case.  Leaving the younger woman in a cell when she could have helped was not something Clarice was inclined to do, any more than she would have abandoned her lamb to be slaughtered so many years ago.  She couldn't turn her back on Erin, and she was privately glad that Erin was cooperating.  It made it easier to sleep at night.  

                Erin's pregnancy was a boon to the task force; it had given Erin a very powerful reason to cooperate.  Anytime Clarice thought about who had caused that condition, or what it might mean, she squelched off the thought off and blithely continued on her way.  Any thoughts of jealousy or that it could have been her were marched off relentlessly to the prison of her hinter mind.  

                She stopped off at the IT office of the FBI.  A fellow sitting behind a massive monitor glanced up at her desultorily. Clarice smiled. 

                "Hi," she said.  "I'm Agent Starling.  I was just curious if our prisoner up in the secure room had tried any Internet access.  We're keeping an eye on it, see if she tries to contact Lecter or not." 

                The tech turned back to his keyboard and tapped on a few keys.  After silently communing with the ghost in the machine, he surveyed the results.  Taking a deep breath, he deigned to convey to her what the machine had answered back. 

                "Let's see…she hit…hmmm…NationalTattler.com and…looks like a kidney transplant site."   He typed and clicked something more.  "Looks like she posted something on the kidney site's message board." 

                "Can I get a copy of that?" 

                "Sure," the tech yawned, "but it looks pretty boring – she's just asking about pregnancy and kidney transplants.  Nothing fun, nothing Lecter.  I put it in the holding pen, you gotta tell me if you want me to let her post it or not." 

                Clarice shrugged.  She knew a little about the Internet, but not much.  "What's that mean?" 

                "Well, her IP address is flagged – actually, she's on her own little subnet up there, just in case, --so the proxy server kicks it into a buffer,--"  the tech started. 

                She grinned and raised her hands.  "No, no, I meant in English." 

                "It doesn't leave Quantico until you say it does." 

                Clarice pondered.  The tech let her see it.  It looked relatively straightforward, and Erin Lander had every reason in the world to look into the subject.  Finally, she shrugged.  

                "Go ahead," she said diffidently.  "Otherwise she'll go back and see it isn't there and she'll know we're watching her."  It was true that Erin could probably figure this out on her own, but Clarice wanted her to think they weren't watching.  She might try to contact Lecter that way.  Hotmail, Yahoo mail, something like that.  The Internet access already belonged to the FBI, so there was no need for warrants.  Clarice didn't know if Erin would take the bait or not, but it was worth a try.  

                The tech clicked OK.  Erin Lander's innocuous question zipped out onto the Internet, reaching the server in California.  Clarice Starling continued up to the room in which Erin had been quartered, blissfully unaware that she had just allowed her captive to notify her husband of where she was.  

                As she walked up, she allowed herself to think about the other reason she had been so anxious to get Erin here at Quantico. She knew Dr. Lecter very well, and she knew that in addition to being extremely brutal and deadly when called to be, he could also be very suave and convincing.  She didn't want Erin in a county cell.  Part of that was her own sympathy for the plight of the captive.  She didn't exactly approve of Erin's lifestyle choices, but she didn't think the young surgeon belonged in jail for them.  All she had really done was be with Lecter, and that was something that Clarice herself had been tempted with – 

                _[Brain police!  Forbidden thought, arrest it. Solitary confinement, please.]_

Another part of it was realizing what her true prey might do.  She closed her eyes and saw the horrible fantasy that had crossed her mind so many times:  

                _The man was excellently dressed, his suit and tie immaculate and his papers were convincing, the very best.  They claimed him to be a psychologist, perhaps, or maybe a lawyer or a doctor.  Whatever they claimed, they entitled him to come and visit Erin Lander.  Perhaps there had been some error, the guards would tell him:  they had received no notification that he was to be there.  _

_                He wasn't rude or hostile or played the 'don't you know who I am' game.  Instead, his voice was calm and convincing.  There was a mistake, clearly, he held no one there responsible.  But he was here, and his business was clear.  Please and thank you fell profusely from his lips.  The guards, accustomed to grandstanding attorneys and angry, bitter inmates, were charmed by his politeness, his willingness to see things their way.  So when the man asked if there was anything, anything at all they could do, and he would appreciate their help so very much, they were inclined to cut the guy some slack.  And it wasn't like the prisoner he wanted to visit was particularly dangerous: she kept mostly to herself and did what she was told._

_                So they brought her down to him, and allowed him to have a visiting room somewhere.  Perhaps, if he was silver-tongued enough, they allowed him to use a vacant office, perhaps belonging to a prison staff member.  He would know where the nearest exits were: the blueprints to the jail were in his memory palace.  _

_                Once he has his wife back, he calls over a guard.  There are, probably, only a few doors barring him from freedom.  One, perhaps two.  "Might I trouble you for a moment?" he asks the guard.  Perhaps his fictitious business is over and the guard thinks it is time for him to return her to their custody.  He has no weapons, but he doesn't need them.  The attack is swift, a punch to the gut, or throat.   Perhaps an elbow to the temple.  The guard slithers to the floor.  The uniform is quickly exchanged, and then he carefully walks his wife to freedom, appearing to be nothing other than a guard.  Or perhaps the guard is smaller, and he gives her the uniform to wear.  In either case, Hannibal Lecter has freed his wife as easily as he escaped Memphis when she was finishing college.  The county facilities are quite capable of holding a non-violent surgeon, but against Hannibal Lecter they are no match.  By the time the alarm goes up, they are out and on their way, heading to a carefully selected hideaway, somewhere where they can recoup and carry out the next phase of an escape from the country.  _

_                Clarice shook her head.  It hadn't happened. Erin Lander was safely jugged in the FBI's secure room.  Here at Quantico, where Hannibal Lecter would not set foot.  She would be safe – Clarice would see to that – but she would also be held securely.  _

                It was almost time.  Clarice wasn't expecting much from this session.  Most likely, Erin would try to get away with telling them things they already knew.  That was fine.  Clarice didn't expect that Erin would simply toss over Dr. Lecter.  This was more about trying to build some trust.  Hopefully, with a few days of no one but Clarice to talk to, Erin would come around.  

                She headed down the hall to the room Erin was being kept in.  An FBI agent was stationed outside the door.  Clarice smiled automatically and pulled out her ID.  

                "Hi," she said easily.  "Agent Starling, I'm here to interrogate her."  

                The agent nodded and tapped a code on a keypad next to the door.  "There you go, Agent Starling, she's all yours," he said.  "You want her cuffed?" 

                Clarice chuckled and shook her head.  "No," she said.  "She's not a risk, and I don't want to piss her off."  

                "OK then," the agent said. "There you are." 

                Erin was standing back against the window when Clarice entered the room.  She eyed Clarice nervously for a moment.  Clarice smiled again, trying to remember to soft-pedal it.  She wanted Erin's trust.  That was the only way to get the information she sought.  But for a moment, she could not help but remember another prisoner, standing against the back wall of his cell.  She banished the thought from her mind.  

                "Good afternoon, Dr. Lander," she said.  "It's time now.  You want to come with me?" 


	5. Conflicts

Author's note:  Here's Chapter 5.  You may thank LadyOfTruth's lack of patience and firm campaigning skills for getting this chapter now. I promised I'd work on it today, and here we go. 

The room was still and small.  Only a round white Formica table occupied it, several chairs holding court around it.  Overhead were several simple fluorescent lights.  Half were lit and half extinguished.  On one side of the table sat Erin Lander.  On the other sat Clarice Starling.  Like two old enemies, the two women sized each other up silently over the table.   

                Clarice sighed.  Maybe she'd start things off on a friendly note.  Might help.  

                "Did they get you dinner?" she asked.  

                Cautiously, Erin Lander shook her head.  

                "You hungry?" 

                Erin shook her head again.  "It's early," she pointed out.  

                "Well, then, we'll get started," Clarice said.  "If you get hungry, say so and I'll have your dinner brought up."  

                A tape recorder sat on the table in front of her.  Clarice pressed the record button and cleared her throat.  

                "This is Special Agent Clarice M. Starling, agent ID 5594234, deposing Dr. Erin M. Lander, social security number 565-43-0290.  The date is June 12, 2002.  Pursuant to an agreement between the Department of Justice and Dr. Lander, no part of this interview may be used to prosecute her for any charge.  Copy of agreement will be attached to this tape." Clarice began.  

                Erin simply stared stonily at her and waited. 

                "Dr. Lander," Clarice asked, "have you spent the past few years living in Berlin, Germany?" 

                Erin sighed.  "Yes, I have," she answered crossly. 

                "And you were living with Dr. Hannibal Lecter, whom you knew to be wanted by the states of Maryland, New Jersey, and Tennessee, for the crimes of murder in the first degree?" 

                "I was married to him," Erin specified.  "Under our aliases, but we were married." 

                Clarice's jaw twitched.  "I…see," she said slowly.  "When and where were you married?" 

                Erin smiled softly.  "July 10th, 2000," she said.  "Married in Nice, France.  We moved to Berlin in September of 2000, once I got all the paperwork squared away with the German government."  

                "And what did you do there?" 

                "I worked as an attending surgeon at Benjamin Franklin Hospital," Erin replied.  "You know that, Agent Starling." 

                "What about Dr. Lecter?  What alias did he use?"  

                "You _know that, Agent Starling," Erin said cuttingly.  "Henry Lind." _

                "Where did he work?"  Clarice persisted.  

                "At the German Historical Museum.  He was an assistant curator," Erin said.  

                Clarice shifted into a more comfortable position.  She wanted to avoid seeming like the Inquisition.  If she could get Erin into a by-play of answering simple questions, stuff that seemed innocuous, she might get something good.  

                "Now, Dr. Lander, to the best of your knowledge, did Hannibal Lecter kill anyone from 2000 to 2002?" 

                Erin smiled and shook her head.  "No.  He didn't kill anyone." 

                "Did he ever express any desire to kill anyone?" 

                "No," Erin said, and her smile turned sly, as if it was some sort of victory over Clarice that Dr. Lecter had not added to his body count.  "He was happy in Berlin.  He had a good job, I had a good job, we had each other and we were happy."

                Clarice nodded.  "What could you tell me about Dr. Lecter's behavior in Berlin?" 

                Erin shrugged.  "He worked a lot.  We both did.  But we made lots of time for each other, when we could…weekends and such.  Sometimes we went to Italy for the weekend, he loved Italy."  Her eyes brimmed with tears.  Clarice clamped her lips together.  She didn't want Erin to start crying.  Clarice Starling was rumored by many on the task force to be a cold-hearted bitch, but that was not completely true.  Clarice could be hard because her job required her to be hard.  But she was neither power-hungry nor was she unsympathetic to those in need, and truth be told, she didn't want to be responsible for making a pregnant woman burst into tears.     

                "What sort of surgery did you do at Benjamin Franklin?" she asked, trying to cut back to something not so emotional.  

                Erin shrugged, but it had the desired effect.  "Trauma, mostly," she said.  "Car accidents and such."  Then it backfired a bit.  "Hannibal always said the Autobahn would make me rich."  Her eyes began to mist a bit.  

                "Did Dr. Lecter know you were pregnant?" Clarice asked casually.  

                Erin Lander glared at Clarice in offense.  "Of _course he did.  He's my husband."  _

                "What was his opinion on that?" 

                "He was happy," Erin said, still giving Clarice a dirty look.  "He thought it was great."  

                "Did he ever express concern about being caught?" 

                Erin shook her head.  "No," she said.  "We had good papers, and we kept a low profile."  Her eyes speared Clarice's and her mouth curved up a bit in a cold smile.  "If you're asking if he talked about you, the answer is no." 

                Clarice Starling almost pulled off the lack of response.  She swallowed once and hurriedly called up a squad of Brain Police, marching off the thoughts of disappointment and the hope that Erin was merely saying that to get to her off to the prison she maintained in the back of her mind for thoughts of Dr. Lecter.  But her mouth tightened a bit.  

_                "He didn't talk about you in front of me," Erin added.  "He knew it would upset me.  He thought of you from time to time, though.  I know he did – wives know these things.  If you were married, you'd know." _

                A prison break occurred behind Clarice's carefully neutral expression. Thoughts and emotions ran wild through her mind.  Some were newly incarcerated; others had been locked up for years.  They all engaged in a short but quick romp, reminding her of Dr. Lecter's face, his eyes, his lips on hers.  The flash of the cleaver, and the sick feeling of joy she had felt when she realized it wasn't her wrist he had chopped off. Joy over not being mutilated; sick over realizing that he had mutilated himself for her.  But the woman across the table had fixed that problem neatly.  One never would have suspected it from her diligently maintained calm expression.  But a tremor thrilled her limbs and made her heart beat faster.  

                _I have a job to do, she thought, and forced the thoughts back into maximum security.  In her mind, steel gates crashed shut.  Once more the proper FBI agent, she took a deep breath through her nose and continued interviewing her source.  She tried to ignore the rising flush of heat at her cheeks._

                "How would you…how would you describe Dr. Lecter's mental state while you were with him?" she asked, trying to get back on track.  

                Erin seemed pleased with the effect she had caused.  "His mental state?  He's the psychiatrist, he's the one you should be asking.  It was fine.  He did his work, he came home, we had dinner together, he would play music in the evening."  A sly smile played on her lips.  "Then…well, then we would go to bed." 

                "I see," Clarice replied, her tone valiantly struggling to remain calm.  

                "Aren't you curious about that?  How he is in bed?" Erin asked cuttingly. 

                "No, Dr. Lander, I'm not," Clarice answered neutrally.  

                "Liar.  Then you wouldn't be blushing."  She leaned back in the chair and put her hands on her belly.  "I'll tell you anyway, I know you want to know, Starling.  He's very good.  Very slow, he takes his time.  With his hands and his…tongue.  Very slow, very gentle.   Almost _too gentle at times, there were times I was ready to jump on him and get it over with.  He can take __hours when he wants to."  She smiled saucily.  "He likes to please, but he likes to maintain control.  He thinks it's amusing to make you lose control when he keeps his.  But by that time, you're usually beyond caring."  _

                 Clarice Starling clamped her lips together and refused to utter a sound.  

                "You talk big with that gun on your hip, Starling, but you'd give in," Erin added.  "You'd break down and beg if he wanted you to.   Bark like a dog if he wanted you to.  In a heartbeat.  He _is that good."  _

                "Thank you, Dr. Lander," Clarice said in the same just-the-facts tone she had adopted.  Images flitted across the back of her mind, forbidden images banned from her higher brain.  _I am an FBI agent, I have a duty, and I am not going to let her get under my skin.  "I don't think it'll be terribly relevant to the investigation, though." _

                "Probably not," Erin agreed.  "But admit it, Starling, you want to know."  

                "I'd prefer to get on with the interview," Clarice said.  "So you're saying that he didn't kill anyone in Berlin, to the best of your knowledge." 

                "You asked me that," Erin pointed out.  "And no.  Which is why I have to wonder why you want him so bad.  He's not killing anyone and hasn't for years.  He would have left Mason alone if Mason left him alone.  Last time he killed anyone on purpose, I was in second grade.  How come you can't leave him alone, Starling?  Just let him be?  He did eight years in prison, that's about as much as a lot of murderers do.  Aren't there active murderers for you to catch?"  

                "Dr. Lecter was found to be insane," Clarice explained, "and he is still considered to be dangerous."  

                "Dangerous?  Please, he's a perfect gentleman who only wants to live out his life in freedom.  He's moved beyond…all that, Starling.  It's _you who can't give him up, isn't it?" _

                "Dr. Lander," Clarice said dangerously, "I'll remind you that you've signed an agreement to assist the investigation, not discuss whatever you like.  I don't care what you think of this investigation, and I don't care what Dr. Lecter is like…as a lover.  I am a federal officer, and it is my job to see that Dr. Lecter is caught and put back where he belongs."  Her jaw set.  "So either you answer my questions, or I'll have you driven back to the jail." 

                Erin Lander smirked briefly, satisfied with herself.  When she spoke, her voice sounded chastened, but Clarice knew that was only for the tape. 

                "Yes, _ma'am," Erin said.  "What __did you want to know, then?" _

                Clarice had to think for a moment in order to settle her mind.  Forbidden images and thoughts played across her brain, and the Brain Police was as at a loss to get them all as the FBI had been to get Dr. Lecter in Berlin.  Then she stopped and thought for a moment.  Might be a half-wise way of getting something, but she _had to get back to business.  _

                _I do not have feelings for Hannibal Lecter, she told herself firmly.  __I am an FBI agent, and I am heading up the task force to catch him.  And I am **certainly not jealous that Erin Lander is carrying his baby and not me.  **_

_                "Dr. Lander," she asked, "you said you married Dr. Lecter in July of 2000?" _

                Erin nodded.

                "Anyone at the ceremony?" 

                She shook her head.  "Just me, him, and the judge," Erin said lightly.  

                "Civil ceremony, then?" 

                Erin nodded.  "He didn't want a church wedding," she explained.  

                "Did you?" 

                "I'm the world's most lapsed Catholic.  Haven't even been to church except for weddings and such.  I'm too busy cutting." 

                The slang for surgery suddenly led Clarice down a trail she hadn't expected.  

                "_You didn't kill anyone in Berlin, did you?" _

                "Of course not," Erin said.  "And frankly, I find that offensive.   I'm sure you've gone over my residency at OSU and my work in Berlin.  I may have lost patients, but anyone I lost I lost fighting every step of the way.  _You try and repair multiple internal bleeds with the patient's BP dropping like a rock, then you can call me a killer."  _

                "I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to offend you," Clarice said quickly, sidestepping the issue.  "I've never had any reason to doubt your surgical ability." 

                "I'm a good surgeon," Erin added caustically, "especially when someone isn't dragging me off my patient, cuffing me, and kicking me in the gut."  

                Clarice Starling closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.  She had wanted to avoid this.  But it was to be expected:  it made perfect sense for Erin to be angry about her situation.  But she was running this investigation.  She was head of the task force.  And she didn't want to give anyone any reason to take it away from her.  For a moment she thought of DeGould.  DeGould didn't like her, and DeGould probably had connections through her rich daddy.  Clarice didn't want DeGould to find out about Paul D'angelo.  

                "I'm sure you are, Dr. Lander," she said.  "I apologize.  Would you prefer to get back to the interview?  Or shall I call a car to take you back to jail?" 

                Erin's eyes were hot and bright as they glared at her powerlessly.  No, this was not getting off to a good start.  But eventually Erin would come around.  Tension hovered palpably.  Clarice sighed.

                "Tell me about the wedding," Clarice invited, trying to defuse the tension. 

                Erin shrugged.  "Him, me, a white dress, a tux, and a French judge with a big wart on his nose.  Not much to tell, really." 

                "Any honeymoon?" 

                "Oh yes, of course. " 

                "Where?" Clarice Starling asked, summoning all her acting ability to make the question seem throwaway.  Erin had given up the location of their marriage easily enough.  Clarice would have Nice checked out.  The honeymoon location might be another.  

                "Spain," Erin said.  "Costa del Sol.  It was awfully crowded, but he liked it that way." 

                "Where on the Costa del Sol?  Torre del Mar?" 

                Erin shook her head.  "No, Torremolinos."  

                "How was that?" Clarice asked, trying to mask her interest in the location.  

                "Nice, but crowded," Erin repeated.  "Lots of Germans.  Gave me a good opportunity to brush up on my German."  

                Clarice continued the interview so that Erin would not suspect anything more, but she had about as much as she was going to get.  Two possible locations that the good doctor might be holed up in.  She asked Erin a lot of questions that had nothing to do with what she wanted, mostly about their life in Germany.  Something in the back of her mind kept chewing on the idea of Dr. Lecter married to Erin.  Despite her best attempts to ignore it, those phantom teeth kept gnawing at her.  

                Finally, she smiled, told Erin that was enough for the night, and brought her back to the secure room.  After making sure that the smaller woman would be fed, she left and headed downstairs for the BSU offices.  Her team was already assembled in the meeting room. 

                Clarice headed into the room at a fast walk, the tape recorder in her hand.  She didn't want to play it for them.  They would get a redacted version, without Erin's comment about being handcuffed and kicked.  If DeGould felt better towards her it would be no big deal, but she suspected that her agent might try to play political games.  

                Then for a moment she felt petty and catty, and remembered how difficult it had been for her as a young agent, working twice as hard to get seventy-five percent of the respect the male agents got.  But she didn't trust the younger woman.  Pure and simple.  DeGould was _very conscious of status and place, and she might still be resentful about being pulled off Erin Lander's escort detail. _

                "Evening, people," she said, looking around the room at the faces seated around the table.  "I've got the results of the first debriefing session with Dr. Lander.  I'll have it typed up and you'll all get copies shortly." 

                Rebecca DeGould nodded from where she sat next to Twerpy and raised her hand politely.  For his part, Petrie managed to bounce even sitting in the chair.  Amazing.  

                "Yes?" Clarice asked, pulling up the extra measure of patience she had to use with the headstrong younger woman. 

                "Why not play it now, Agent Starling?" DeGould asked.  

                "Because there's other work to do." 

                DeGould nodded, her face a calm mask. What was going on in that _Hah-vad-_educated brain?  "Also, I was wondering if anyone else on the team was going to try interrogating the doctor." 

                Clarice let out a long sigh.  DeGould could be extremely good this way: making her points subtly, so that Clarice would look like the recalcitrant one instead of her.  

                "For now, no," Clarice said.  "Let me have a go at it, I know her." 

                "I'm closer to her age," DeGould said, "and she might feel guilty about macing me in Berlin.  I'm not going to go after her with a billy club, I can promise you that." She smiled, and gestured at herself as if to indicate her lack of malevolence.  

                "_Thank _you, Agent DeGould," Clarice said.  "I'll keep it in mind.  _However, _I do have work for you to do.  In the debriefing session, I managed to get two possible locations where Dr. Lecter may be hiding.  So, I need some sleuthing done."  She eyed the array of agents before her.  Would Dr. Lecter go back to Nice?  Perhaps, but she thought not – too obvious.  The records of his marriage to Erin Lander could be found.  He would know that.   Damn.  DeGould was a good sleuth, and was excellent at getting people to get her talking, but Clarice was tempted to put her on Nice where she wouldn't come up with squats. 

                "I'm going to assign a few agents to each particular region," Clarice continued.  "I want you to contact all hotels in that area, get a list of single men who have checked in.  See what you can find.  If you get a hit for Dr. Lecter's approximate age, I want you to put the name on the list.  Make sure to double-check luxury accommodations."  

                She wrote on the whiteboard as she spoke.  "First place, Nice, France.  That'll be worked by…hmm…Rico, Lutz, and…Petrie."  She noticed that agents Rico and Lutz appeared a bit glum over working with Hyper Boy.  For his part, Petrie simply bounced in his chair and looked excited.  Clarice closed her eyes and wished for a tranquilizer gun loaded with Ritalin darts.    

                "Second, Torremolinos, Spain.  Same deal."  She had to be careful here.  She didn't want to betray that here was where she thought Dr. Lecter was.  "Garwood, Myers,…and…," Hell with it. She needed a good sleuth. And maybe if DeGould got some glory she'd give Clarice some peace.  "And DeGould."  

                "I want people on this ASAP.  Go home for the night if you need to," she said, and she watched DeGould carefully.  She knew DeGould would take that as a challenge and would stay through the night if she had to.  "But I want an update by noon tomorrow, and I want this done ASAP."   

                "That's all, people.  If you're leaving, have a good night but get back here pronto in the morning.   If you're staying, let's get cracking.   Now let's catch us a killer." 

                …

                The vacation cottage was below Dr. Lecter's normal standards, but not by much.  It wasn't bad at all, all things considered.  Two floors, small bedroom, a view of the beach from across the street.  It did have one thing Dr. Lecter liked very much.  The parlor had a piano.  It was out of tune when he arrived, but that did not surprise him, being near the sea air.  Tuning it had not been terribly difficult, and he sat at it and played in the evenings to amuse himself.  He had been here for a few days, and was planning to leave shortly.

                Things were almost ready.  It was early morning on the Spanish coast, and Dr. Lecter could hear English families talking to each other on their way to the beach.  For a moment, he cast his eyes around the cottage and sighed.  Here he was, enjoying the Spanish beach, and his wife was in Clarice's clutches.  

                No, that wasn't right.  She was in Clarice's _custody.  _Clarice would know well the dual ramifications of that word.  It meant that Erin was under Clarice's control, as a child to a parent, or a prisoner to the state.  Or, for that matter, as he had once been to Dr. Chilton.  But Clarice would keep in mind the other ramification, the corresponding responsibility that the right to control Erin gave her. 

                On the piano sat Dr. Lecter's laptop computer.  He rather liked the machine.  His wife had given it to him for Christmas of last year.  He opened up a browser and surfed the web, seeking out kidney transplant sites.  Was it possible they would let her have access to the Internet?  Certainly not in a regular prison, although it was possible Erin could have wheedled her way to one.  Clarice might try and bait Erin with it.  She was bright enough, and she knew that Erin might, in desperation, try to contact him.  

                He used the same search engine his wife had, and so it wasn't long until he found the website she had used.  Then he found her question, and sat there, staring at it. 

                _Q: any nephrologist treat a pregnant woman? I'm on corticosteroids, cyclosporine, and others. Thanks._

As codes went it was hardly the Enigma code, but it was enough.  It appeared to be something other than what it was.  To Clarice Starling, it had simply been a request for information from a woman who had every reason in the world to be concerned about the subject.  But Dr. Lecter knew better. 

                The reference to 'a pregnant woman' was a cipher, possibly just a reference to herself.   The important part was the first letters of the remaining words. 

                QANTIOCCAO.  

                Dr. Lecter knew perfectly well that cryptography often requires misspellings and nulls.  He did not need an engraved invitation to realize that they were holding his wife at Quantico.  He sighed. That made his job much harder than it needed to be.  He thought for a moment and wondered how he would accomplish this.  He could probably have arranged by hook or by crook to get her out of a county facility.  The weak points were always the guards, and Dr. Lecter could have dealt with them easily.  An FBI facility on a secure Marine base would be much harder.

                Making travel arrangement to the US would be no problem.  He would do it as he had before, through a purveyor of last-minute cancellations and deaths.  It would be as simple a matter to re-enter the United States as it had been before.  And this time there would be no faceless madman trying to feed him to the pigs.   

                He would make arrangements that afternoon to return to the US.  Then…well, then he would look up someone who owed him a favor.  Humorous, really – that was how he had come to be with Erin in the first place, by calling in the favor she owed him.  But he could not allow himself to be distracted with drollery.  His wife and child were behind held prisoner across the ocean.  Getting them back was his main priority.  

                As Dr. Lecter lifted the phone, looking for a broker of last-minute cancellations, someone across the ocean checked a computer list of names.  She noted the luxury vacation cottage rented to Michael Hinckel.  According to the Mr. Hinckel had checked in the day after Erin Lander's arrest.  Mr. Hinckel  had also ordered a bottle of Batard-Montrachet on his arrival.  Hmm.  Interesting, very interesting. 

                Rebecca DeGould leaned back in her chair and looked over at the other agents busily checking check-in lists.  One was speaking on the phone to some Spanish hotel; the other was at a computer, as she was.  She glanced down the hall and saw that Clarice Starling's office light was still on. 

                The proper thing to do would be to bring what she'd found to Clarice.  But Rebecca sat in her chair and thought about Clarice Starling.  A gun-crazed redneck, when you came down to it, not a sleuth.  And please, she was from _West Virginia, and here she was Rebecca's __boss?  Rebecca had been to __Harvard, for God's sake, she deserved better.  She thought about the last-minute call in Berlin.  __DeGould, you're off the escort detail.  Swap seats with Garwood.  No..no..just do what I say, all right?  _

                Rebecca DeGould carefully folded up her printout and slipped it into her pocket.  Kick her off detail, huh? Clarice could wait till the morning for that one.  If Dr. Lecter got away…oh well, those were the breaks, weren't they?  Perhaps this task force would succeed with the _proper person in charge of it.  Someone who wasn't an obsessed hick.    All the FBI would need is to realize that Clarice just wasn't the woman to be running this task force. _

                "Hey, I'm beat," she told her co-workers.  "I'll see you in the morning."  

                She got up and walked out of the room down the hall.  Dr. Lecter's identity was safely hidden in her pocket.   She saw Clarice on her way to the elevator.  

                "Hey, DeGould," Clarice said.  "Find anything?" 

                "Nothing so far," Rebecca said.  "I'll have a report for you by noon tomorrow, just like you asked for."  

                As she left, a small, sly smile played across her face. 


	6. Women Behaving Badly

Behavioral Sciences was busy that next afternoon. Agents ran hither and yon. Some talked on phones. Some were on the computer. Some talked back and forth with each other. In the epicenter of this organized chaos was Task Force Leader Clarice M. Starling. 

She was in her office, her desk phone and cell phone ringing at the same time. The bigwigs at the FBI on one end. The Spanish authorities on the other. _Dammit, _she thought, _I wish she'd come to me earlier. _

At the noon meeting, DeGould had been good as gold. Polite, without the slightly bitchy air she affected when she was mad. She'd sat patiently as each agent in turn went around detailing what they had found. Clarice had sat at the head of the table. She made Petrie write things on the whiteboard – oddly enough, for a spaz, he had handwriting that was very neat and almost schoolmasterish. 

Then, when it had been DeGould's turn, she had lifted a single sheet of paper and shot it across the table to Clarice. 

"I've got a possible that looks pretty good," she said. "A single man, checked in the day after Dr. Lander was arrested. Name is Michael Hinckel. Passport photo on the copy I got was so blurry it could be anyone in this room. Age is approximately that of Dr. Lecter. He rented a luxury vacation cottage in Torremolinos for two weeks. Ordered Batard-Montrachet from room service, also some food…let's see…lamb chops." She grinned with accomplishment. "_Plus…_two years ago, the very same cottage was rented by Henry and Angela Lind." 

Clarice's eyes bulged. Her heart began to pound. "Whoa," she said. "That's a good one. Have you spoken with the Spanish authorities? We need to get in there, now." 

DeGould crossed her ankles and looked thoughtful. "Well, no," she said. "You're the task force leader, Agent Starling. Arranging an operation on the level of Berlin…that's not within _my _authority. That's your call." 

"When did you track this guy down?" Clarice asked. She could feel her hunter's instincts rising in her. Here, indeed were the tracks of her prey. She knew it, knew it as clearly as she knew her own middle name. 

"I did some work last night and some this morning," DeGould answered obligingly. 

Clarice's face twisted. Why the hell hadn't DeGould brought this to her last night? Or this morning? This was him. She knew it. _Godammit, DeGould, why didn't you bring this to me last night? We could have gotten on a plane and been out there already. _

She knew what she would get for an answer if she asked. DeGould would bat those big blue eyes at her and say _But Agent Starling, you said it would be due at the meeting was at noon. _And she'd be right, too. Oh God, what if it was too late? 

_Do you **really **want to catch him? _a thought spoke up in the back of her mind. _Do you **really **want to put him in a cell? _

Yes, she answered that voice, and ruthlessly squashed any further internal dissension with the Brain Police.

"I want you to get on the horn and start making arrangements," she said. "I think we got it here." 

"Okay," DeGould, the soul of cooperativeness, said. 

So now here she was, juggling arranging immediate flights to Spain for twenty agents, trying to settle jurisdictional questions with the Spanish police, talking with her bosses, and trying to get everyone to realize that instead of going home for dinner they would be on a flight to Madrid tonight. DeGould was helpful in running down some of this, as were the others, but the lion's share of the responsibility fell to her. 

_I shoulda stayed on jump-out squad duty, _Clarice thought. _Brushing broken glass out of my hair was easy compared to this. _

"Agent Starling?" DeGould asked, playing helpful aide-de-camp. "You have another four o'clock session with Dr. Lander for today. Are you going to keep it?" 

Erin. Oh yeah. 

"No," Clarice responded. "Let me tell her myself, it'll be easier. Can you hold the fort down for twenty minutes?" 

DeGould nodded helpfully. Clarice wondered for a moment. Was she wrong about DeGould? Or more likely, was DeGould feeling some guilt about not having told her yet? In either case, she needed a little bit of time away from this administrative madhouse. 

"I'd be happy to," Rebecca DeGould said. "Sure, go tell her." 

The elevator ride up was blessedly peaceful. No one calling her on the phone, no one running up to her. _Agent Starling, I need this, Agent Starling, I need that, Agent Starling, wipe my nose, Agent Starling, Agent Starling, AgentStarlingAgentStarlingAgentStarling. _No. Wait. Her people were good, but they _did _need her sign-off on things. She was just frazzled from trying to do anything and everything at once.

The floor the secure room was on was quiet, and Clarice relished the silence. She thought about Dr. Lecter's letter to her. Silence of the lambs, hell, that was nothing compared to the silence of the agents. This was silence she had _earned. _The guard was quietly cordial as he let her into Erin's room. 

Erin herself was flopped out on the bed, watching TV. When Clarice entered, she sat up and looked at her, puzzled. 

"Hi," she said cautiously. "You're kind of early." 

Clarice sighed. "Dr. Lander—Erin—we're not going to be having our session today. I wanted to tell you myself." 

Erin stood and jolted. "What? Why? Did you…," her face settled into a furious change of stress. 

"We're going to be away for a bit," Clarice said. "That's all I can tell you. I have some things to do." 

"So what happens then?" Erin wanted to know, not unreasonably. 

"I'll be back in a few days," Clarice promised. "We'll take it up from there." 

Erin's jaw trembled. "You mean I have to be locked in here for a few days?" Her voice quavered. 

"For now," Clarice said. "Look, I'm sorry, I know." 

"No, you don't," Erin said bitterly. "I'm locked in here all day except for an hour outside with no one to talk to. I don't know all the ins and outs of the agreement I signed, but keeping me here in solitary confinement is just cruel." 

Clarice sighed. For just a moment she wished she could be as insensitive as Paul Krendler had been. "Erin, look. I know, it's tough, but I really don't have time for this." 

"I've been thinking about it, and I want an attorney," Erin said. 

"Erin, please. Not now. I'm in a big rush, and--," 

"I am being held prisoner here, and I want an attorney," Erin repeated. "I want a phone and the phone book. I have rights, you know." 

Clarice held out her hands. _Oh man, why did I want to come up here again? _

"Erin, c'mon. I've been square with you. I got you your doctors, I got you immunity, now c'mon. I know it's stressful, I'll tell you what. When I get back I'll take you out of here for the day, how's that? Movies, food, shopping, whatever you want. Please. C'mon, work with me." 

"You're going to arrest my husband and then keep me here," Erin said flatly. "I want to talk to an attorney. Now." Tears wavered in her eyes. 

Clarice let out another sigh. OK, if being nice wasn't getting it, she'd try rough. Part of her hated to be rough on Erin – after all, she was pregnant, and the more she looked into Erin Lander's background the more she saw similarities to herself. Both orphans, both born blue-collar, both women who had largely succeeded in the world on their own terms. And both women had been involved with Hannibal Lecter-- 

__

She broke off _that _thought. 

"Fine, Erin," she said. "I'll let you call an attorney, you can ask for a habeus writ. And you'll go back to jail. I'll call a car." 

Erin Lander stood firmly and planted her feet. 

"Bullshit," she pronounced firmly. 

Clarice Starling blinked. Never once had she ever heard Erin use profanity. "What did you say?" 

"Bullshit," Erin repeated. "No way, Starling. This is still America. You can't send me back to jail for asking for an attorney. No way. You keep telling me I signed an agreement. Well, _so did you._ You can't agree to give me immunity and then take it away just because I asked for an attorney." She folded her arms like a rebellious teenager. "And if I _do _go back to jail, then everything stops, Starling. I won't talk to you no matter what. You can try and find him yourself, and you _won't _find him. He's way too smart for you. And if I do go back to jail, then I get to have mail and phone calls, you know." She smirked. "And maybe a judge would agree that I should be in jail and maybe he won't." 

Clarice shrugged. "He will after you're charged with passport fraud," she said, although she knew it wouldn't work. 

"I have an agreement from the US Attorney saying he won't prosecute me for _any _crimes related to my…my using Angela's identity," Erin said blandly. "You can threaten me, Starling, it's fine. I'd love to hear you explain to a jury how you unilaterally broke the deal because I asked for a lawyer. We'll see if you win or not." 

Clarice Starling thought about Erin Lander sitting at a defense table, her pregnant tummy prominent under a smock. She envisioned herself on the stand, trying to explain that well, yes, she had refused to let her prisoner call an attorney when she asked for one. Yes, she knew that Dr. Lander was constitutionally entitled to an attorney. Well, she didn't want her to have an attorney because it was inconvenient for her, Clarice Starling, to let her call one. No, now that you mention it, no, no attorney for Erin Lander had ever gone over the agreement she signed. Then she envisioned Erin on the stand, explaining tearfully how Agent Starling had used her health problems as a pawn in her chess game, how she had signed an agreement to cooperate, and how Agent Starling had shipped her back to jail and all she wanted was an attorney. 

Yeah, that would go over great. The _Tattler _would eat it up. She could see the headlines now: _FBI'S KILLING MACHINE BECOMES DER FUEHRER. _ She sighed. Well, she would just give in on this one and see if Erin would be more tractable when she got back. 

"All right, Erin, fine," Starling said. "You want an attorney? Fine. I'll let you call one. But nothing's going to happen till I get back. You know that, right? If you wait a few days I'll make it worth your while. But if you push it, you _will _go back to jail, you know that, right? Is that what you want?" 

She stepped forward and put her hand on the smaller woman's arm. Erin glared at her, seeming again like a frustrated teenager. Once Clarice was able to calm herself a bit, she realized most of what this was about: Erin probably felt powerless and captive, and didn't like it. No one would. Demanding an attorney was a way of trying to assert some kind of control over her own life. 

"Erin, I know it's tough," Clarice said sympathetically. "I know you don't want to be here. And I'm trying to make this as easy as I can on you. If you want an attorney, fine. But it's gonna be a few days. I'll tell you what. I'll make sure you have more time out of…," She trailed off. She didn't want to say _your cell. _"Out of here. While I'm gone, I'll tell them to let you have the afternoons out, how's that? And once I get back, I'll take you off base for a day or so. I know you've got to be climbing the walls. But you just gotta hang on for me." 

"I still want an attorney," Erin persisted. 

"Fine, then. I'll have the guard take you to a phone. There's one down the hall." She turned and prepared to leave. Then she stopped. "Erin, if I wanted to be harsh on you, I could've left you in the county jail," she said softly. "I'm trying to help you. I don't think you believe that." 

Erin folded her arms and said nothing. 

Clarice let out a third sigh. Time to go back down to the maelstrom. She wondered if telling Erin she would be away had been dumb. No, wait. She would have to tell the techs to closely monitor Erin's Internet access. But she'd done everything she could be expected to do. Erin would get over it. 

"I'll see you in a few days, then," she said, and left the cell. Once the door was closed, she got the guard's attention. 

"I have to leave for a few days," she said. "She said she wants to call an attorney. Give her a little bit, half an hour maybe, to let her cool down. If she still wants to call one, let her. Just take her down the hall and let her call, no arguments. Also, until I get back, I want her to have the afternoons out of the secure room. Either let her go outside or let her watch TV in the lounge down the hall. " 

The guard seemed surprised. "That's gonna be a pain," he said. "You know the rules on witnesses we keep here, we gotta have at least two guards on 'em when they're out." 

Clarice Starling had spent the past few hours in overdrive. First dealing with a sudden, very strong lead on Dr. Lecter. If that wasn't enough, she also had the nagging thought that it might be too late, and that the twelve hours that had passed between Rebecca DeGould having found the lead and communicating it to her might be all the good doctor needed to slip into the ether and vanish. Erin's tantrum had stressed her out further, but her complaint was valid. Dr. Lecter needed to be kept under extremely secure conditions of confinement. Dr. Lander did not. 

So she was excited and frustrated and hyped up. The opportunity to catch Hannibal Lecter was near, so near. So when the guard complained about having to let Erin out for the afternoon, she lost it. 

"Well, I'm sorry if it's difficult for you," Clarice snapped. "This is pretty easy duty, you know. But I gotta tell ya, I don't see that a pregnant woman needs to stay in lockdown the livelong day for your convenience." Her eyes flashed. "If you don't like this detail, maybe jump-out squad in Newark would be more _convenient._" 

The guard raised his hands. "All right, all right," he said. "Whatever you want, Agent Starling." 

Back down the elevator, back to the maelstrom. Things were still busy, but there was at least some calm. Most of the agents seemed pretty excited to be heading out. Agent Rebecca DeGould was sitting behind Clarice's desk when she came in. She was on the phone and handling something. Clarice thought she sounded awfully bossy and demanding. But that seemed to be going around, and she was hardly one to talk. 

For just a moment, Clarice was quite annoyed to see her subordinate at her desk. When DeGould saw her, she got up politely from Clarice's chair and walked around the desk to let Clarice sit. She smiled at Clarice, showing even white teeth, and continued talking on the phone. After a few minutes, she hung up and smiled at Clarice pleasantly.

"How did it go?" Rebecca DeGould asked. 

"Aaaargh," Clarice groaned. "She threw a temper tantrum and asked for an attorney." 

"Let her have one," DeGould said. "Don't sweat the small stuff, boss." 

"I _did,_" Clarice rejoined, suddenly wondering why DeGould was being so nice. She closed her eyes and forced herself not to be suspicious. Maybe DeGould was happy to be able to bark out orders and do her thing. But dammit, she didn't trust the younger agent. Something wasn't right. 

"Besides," DeGould said, "it's got to be tough on her, you know, locked in that room all day." 

Clarice found her left hand clenching into a fist. She could feel her nails digging into her palm. The sign of serial-killer victims tortured before they died. Was this it? Was DeGould trying to steal her thunder? Look to everyone like the sympathetic one? Clarice resented that; resented the implication that she was the cruel, cold-hearted bitch she'd been accused of being the moment she took on this task force. DeGould continued talking. 

"I have plane tickets for everyone…all on the same plane, no less." She waved a bunch of airline tickets at Clarice, separated one off and handed it to her. "Yours is first class…I figured you could use it." 

"Thank you," Clarice said, and then frowned. "Wait a minute…FBI rules say we fly coach." 

DeGould shrugged. "I'm sorry if I broke a rule," she said delicately, "but let's be honest, we've just spent several thousand dollars on airfare, and a few hundred dollars more for a first-class fare won't change much." She chuckled. "Besides, Agent Starling, conveniently, I do just happen to have the travel records of most of the big boys, and _they _fly first class too." 

Getting twenty agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation out to the airport to catch a transatlantic flight was rather akin to herding cats, Clarice thought. Most of them were excited, but everyone moved so damn _slow. _Couldn't they make arrangements to get clothes and such quicker? Why the hell did everything take so long? When she'd been appointed head of this task force she had packed a suitcase and left it in her office, knowing that Dr. Lecter would live abroad. Had it just been her, she could have driven to the airport and been ready to go.

A few people had reasons not to go, and Clarice let them go without issue. Some of her agents had kids, and she didn't mind. Most of them were eager to be there when they brought down their prey. But eventually, spouses were contacted, child-care arrangements made, suitcases packed. And off went twenty FBI agents to go and capture Dr. Hannibal Lecter. 


	7. Exit and Entry

                First class was definitely worth it, Clarice decided.  A suitable reward for getting this op off the ground on such short notice.  She accepted a cup of coffee in a real mug from the stewardess and sipped at it, enjoying the taste.  She found herself wondering if the agents under her resented her getting a first-class seat.  It hadn't been her, DeGould had done it.  

                Oh well.  Anyone who objected could try running this task force themselves.  It was exhausting.  

                Clarice stretched out in her seat and thought about what might happen as the plane reached its cruising altitude high over the Atlantic.  She saw herself running into a cottage on the beach, at the head of the column.  She wouldn't make her agents go in ahead of her; none of them knew Lecter as well as she did.  She thought about those strange maroon eyes.  What expressions might she see there, where the dark sucked in the sparks, when she put the cuffs on him and read him his rights?  

                Would he be angry?  Would he ask about his wife?  Would it matter to him that Clarice had done everything in her power to try and make Erin's confinement comfortable? Was there room for her in his life after she brought him back--

                _Don't **go there, she thought, squelching off the thought.  **__If Erin Lander wants to be a little prison wife, showing up dutifully every visiting day, she can, but I won't.  My duty is to catch him, not feel sorry for him.  I am an FBI agent and I will not let anything get in the way of my duty.  Not in a thousand years.  _

_                She stretched out in the comfortable seat and closed her eyes.  Thankfully, a moment to rest.  They could make her run the task force, they could run her ragged trying to get twenty agents across the Atlantic, but one thing they could __not make her do was fly a Boeing 767.  She closed her eyes.   The exhaustion caught up with her.  She would just rest her eyes for a moment.  She wanted to go back in the aisle and brief her troops.  Just a moment to close her eyes, that was all she needed._

                "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking.  We are now on our final descent into Madrid International Airport.  Please return all tray tables and seat backs to their original upright position."  

                Clarice Starling sat up and looked around.  Her seatmate, an older fellow she had not bothered to introduce herself to, grinned at her.  

                "You must've been tired," he quipped.   

                "Are we landing already?"  

                 He nodded.  

                She grunted.  Damn, she'd wanted to talk to her people.  Oh well.  She cadged another cup of coffee from the stewardess and drank it quickly.  The caffeine helped her focus.  She sat back and waited, breathing reprocessed air and wondering how she was going to organize her team.  Should be a joint operation. The FBI and the Spanish cops.   She was tired, but not too bad, nothing a few cups of coffee couldn't fix.  

                The plane, ox-like now that it was on the ground, lumbered along the runway, threatening any smaller vehicles in its path with its great white snout.  It took far too long for the plane to taxi along to the gate and finally get ready to offload them.  Fortunately, Clarice's first-class seat enabled her to get off the plane early.  She stationed herself by the gate and rounded up her agents one by one as they came off the plane out into the airport.  

                The Spanish cops were waiting for them at the airport, and once everyone had gotten their bags, they headed downstairs to several unmarked vans.  Clarice found herself thinking of Feliciana Fish Market. Was she working too fast? Could this bomb on her the way that had?  No; she had to work fast.  The clock was ticking.  Dr. Lecter did not know that they were seeking him, but he wouldn't stay in Torremolinos long, not with his wife held captive.  

                Fortunately, the Spanish cops had actually been useful while the FBI was en route.  At a police station in Torremolinos, they went over the plan they had made.  The FBI agents would go in first to get Dr. Lecter, but he would actually be handed over to the Spaniards pending extradition.  That was fine with Clarice.  The house itself had only two entrances.  Both had been watched since Clarice's phone call earlier that day.  No one had come in or out of the house.  

                It all seemed to be moving so quickly, Clarice thought.  Hard to believe when she got up that morning that she had no idea where Dr. Lecter was.  Now here she was, in the middle of the Spanish night, preparing to get him.  Before she slept tonight, Dr. Lecter would be in a cell.  

                So there she was, in another unmarked van, hearing the Mediterranean tide wash onto the sand as the task force made its way towards the house where Michael Hinckel had been heard earlier in the day playing piano.  A wire of nerves cinched itself twice around her gut.  

                The house itself was not quite Lecter standards, she thought as she disgorged herself from the van and observed it.  They were setting up a position down the street, behind the beach dunes where Dr. Lecter could not see.  It was large, yes, but it seemed somehow cheap the way beach houses can be.  She would've expected him to go for something higher-class.  Of course, the man wanted to stay free, and he'd satisfied himself with a suite at the Marcus Hotel when he'd escaped the first time.  

                What would she say when she saw him?  What would happen then?  Would her knees wobble when she gazed on those fine features again?  

                _No, no, no, _she told herself.  _What I will say to him is this:  'You are under arrest.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.'  That is what I have to say to him.  And that's **it. **_****

She glanced over and saw Rebecca DeGould wearing a set of headphone and holding up a parabolic dish on a handle.  Clarice had seen these things before; they allowed you to listen in from long distance.  She watched the younger woman raise the dish and point it towards Dr. Lecter's rented home.  After a few moments of searching, a look of shock came over the younger woman's face.  

                "What is it?" Clarice asked urgently.  

                Wordlessly, Rebecca pulled off the headphones with one hand and handed them to her boss.  Clarice slipped them on and Rebecca re-adjusted the dish.  Clarice heard nothing but the faint hissing of static for a moment, and then…

                Clarice heard the rich sound of piano music.  Whoever was playing was quite good, but there seemed to be a bit of stiffness in the left hand; the lower notes were occasionally off just by a fraction.  She wondered who it was.  Beethoven?  Bach? Chopin?  Something pretentious, she was sure, something by some European guy who had been dead for two hundred years.  

                But the music made her tremble.  He was there.  This was actually going to work.  She would be rewarded, lauded, given more promotions. She would be the agent who brought Hannibal Lecter to justice.  The protégé's promise Crawford had seen in her would be fulfilled.   The poison Krendler had dripped in her file would be forgotten as he was. 

                So why were her knees trembling and her stomach suddenly aflutter?  

                Clarice pulled on her flak jacket and spoke briefly with the Spanish police commander.  They were agreed.  It was showtime.  

                Two agents jogged up to the door, dressed in civilian clothing.  One held a long flower box.  In the flower box was a sledgehammer.  It proved not to be necessary:  the salt air made it easy for the door frame to give.  They disappeared inside and stopped.  Waiting for her.  

                Clarice Starling charged across the dune, across the street, and into Dr. Lecter's house.  With the ease of experience, she had her gun out, checking her corners automatically and smoothly enough to please the memory of the late John Brigham.  Behind her, she could hear the thunder of agents behind her.  

                She ran into the dining room, her mind automatically flashing back to the blueprints the Spanish cops had provided.  There was no one there, just a table, chairs, and a china cabinet.  But on the other side of the room were two shuttered doors. They were closed.  Music escaped through the louvers of the door, and fingers of light accompanied it, making a barred pattern on the far wall.  

                Clarice Starling raised her hand silently.  He was still playing piano?  What the hell?  Maybe this was a game of sorts.  Perhaps he knew he was caught, and simply trying to provide himself with something pleasant right up until he was caught.  She motioned for two agents to come and grab the doors, preparing to open them.  Fortunately, they weren't locked, but even had they been it wouldn't have been a big deal.  Those doors wouldn't have held back a determined three-year-old.  

                The agents pulled the doors open with a crash.  Clarice ran through into the parlor.  Her gun was out in front of her, roving back and forth to make sure the room was secure.  Across the room stood the piano.  Clarice walked up to it quickly, gun held high.  Her eyes watered as she took in the image before her.  

                Atop the piano sat a very nice CD player, playing the haunting piano music she had heard before.  On the music stand, where the sheet music would normally go, was a fine vellum envelope.  Her name was written across the envelope in a careful, almost machinelike copperplate hand.  She knew whose hand it was immediately.

                Clarice dropped her pistol.  She heard other agents coming downstairs from where they had checked the upstairs bedrooms.   

                "There's no one here at all," one of them said. 

                Clarice lowered her pistol and let out a sigh.  She turned and nodded, her lips pressing together. 

                "Yeah," she said acidly.  "I know.  Get me a bag and some evidence gloves." 

                Safely behind her where Clarice could not see, Rebecca DeGould indulged herself in a cold smile.   Their prey had flown the coop.  Things were off to a _very _good start.  _Only one or two more screwups, _DeGould thought.  _Then you'll be off this task force and back where you belong, Starling.  _   

                …

                It was a sunny afternoon in Washington.  Not far to the south, Erin Lander was enjoying her new extended outside privileges.  Under guard, certainly, and not permitted to go very far, but that was fine.  In the city itself, a man pulled his car into a parking spot and walked swiftly to his apartment building.  He winked at a few kids playing hockey in the street.  This was a quiet, residential area of DC, and the only sound was occasional traffic and the excited shrieks of the children.  

                The man jogged up a flight of stairs and reached into his pocket for his keys.  They jingled as he took them out.  Whistling a merry tune, he opened his door and headed into his apartment. He dropped his briefcase on the floor and grabbed himself a can of iced tea from the fridge.  

                He meant to check his email, and so he headed into the living room.  What he saw froze him to the spot.  The can of iced tea dropped from his nerveless fingers and rolled along the floor, brown liquid gurgling onto his hardwood floor. 

                Dr. Hannibal Lecter lounged on the couch. His left ankle was crossed comfortably over his right knee. He smiled easily at the other man.  The flight in from Paris had been quite calm and quiet, and entering the US no more difficult than buying the ticket had been.  

                "Hello, Gregory," he said.  "It's been a while, has it not?  Twenty-three years, I believe." 

                Gregory Lynch swallowed and stared blankly at the man before him.  Yes, it had been twenty-three years, but he remembered.  The events of 1979 had been forever engraved on his mind.  He'd tried so hard to forget, to put it behind him.  But the man on his couch brought it all back. 

                "Dr. Lecter," he said powerlessly. 

                "Indeed.  How have you been, Gregory?"  

                Gregory began to pant.  Images he had tried to bury so long ago flitted through his mind.  He swallowed again and sat down hard on his recliner.  

                "Usually one responds with 'I'm fine, how are you, Dr. Lecter?'," Dr. Lecter interposed helpfully.  

                "What…why are you here?" Gregory whispered. 

                "Why, Gregory, really."  Dr. Lecter smiled at the younger man with no sympathy.  "One might think you are rude.  And I presume the fact that you're still free means that you've been a good boy so far."  

                Gregory Lynch had spent the better part of the past twenty years trying to make the most of his life.  To put 1979 behind him.  He thought he had finally buried those old atrocities under a pile of years, where he could finally claim to have begun anew.  The presence of Dr. Lecter told him how foolish that had been.  In a heartbeat, he was no longer the successful reporter for the Washington _Post _anymore; instead, he was the nervous, excited, 

                _[crazy] _

sixteen-year-old in juvenile hall he had once been.  With this man in the room with him.  

                "Gregory, I'm here because I need your help," Dr. Lecter said.  "I trust you wouldn't mind helping out an old friend.  After all, Gregory, you wouldn't have the life you do, if not for me." 

                Gregory Lynch began to tremble.  Sweat ran down the back of his blue oxford shirt.  "I…I was sick then," he said strengthlessly.  "It wasn't my fault." 

                "Ah, yes," Dr. Lecter mused.  "I recall, do you?  What you told me in juvenile hall?"  He chuckled humorlessly.  

                "Not your fault, Gregory? It must be true what they say: reporters _are _very liberal."  Dr. Lecter's lips curled away from his teeth in a monstrous smile.  "You raped and killed your neighbor, Gregory.  You were sixteen, she was fifteen.  Bashed her head in with a rock sixteen times and _then _raped her and left her in the brush.  Angry boy, were you not?" 

                Gregory flinched.  "Please," he said.  The demons of his past, long silenced by medication and time, jumped into full roar for the first time in years.  

                "Not your fault," Dr. Lecter repeated.  "That is what you said then, too.  She was a dirty girl, you told me."  His voice rose, becoming hectoring and insane, imitating the words Gregory had spoken back then, in a Maryland juvenile detention hall.  

                "Dirty girl, dirty girl," Dr. Lecter chanted.  "I had to do it, doctor, she was a dirty girl, dirty, dirty, dirty."  He chuckled again and resumed his own voice, implacably cold.  "You still see dirty girls out there, don't you, Gregory?  Dirty girls with their black stockings and high heels and perfume.  They make you think nasty thoughts, do they not?  Perhaps medication stops it, but you still think it from time to time, don't you?  You want to stop them, stop the dirty thoughts, stop the dirty _girls, _smash them, make them bleed, make the dirty thoughts go away." 

                _"STOP!" _Gregory Lynch screamed. His eyes were blank and staring.  He trembled.  The pleasantly decorated apartment was miles away from his tortured mind.  Instead, Dr. Lecter knew, he was back in a wealthy Baltimore suburb, in the back of a patrol car, trying to comprehend just what he had done.

                Dr. Lecter smiled.  "You were very fortunate, Gregory," he explained.  "You know that, do you not?  I testified as the expert witness in your trial, and I convinced the jury that you did not know right from wrong.  But you did, didn't you?  You knew it was wrong."  

                "I was sick," Gregory groaned.  Had it been only ten minutes ago that everything was just hunky-dory in his life?  "It was a disease, it was schizophrenia, you know that, you're a doctor." 

                "Schizophrenic?  Perhaps, Gregory, perhaps.  But you'd been treated for it, you were on your medication.  At the trial I said you'd developed a resistance to it, that it had become ineffective."  He leaned in close to the trembling man.  "But you went off your medication voluntarily, didn't you?  You knew what you wanted to do."  

                Dr. Lecter paced up and down the room, reeling off other reminders of the man's past.  

                "You did what I told you to do, Gregory.   You were a very apt pupil.  You went to the mental institution, just as I said.  Your parents were able to get you transferred to a private hospital under the court's auspices.  I told you you'd have to do a few years, and that you did, very quietly, behaving perfectly well.  Just as I told you to do.  And then a near miss, wasn't it, Gregory?" 

                Gregory Lynch, who knew just what a close shave he had had, sat in the recliner, trembled, and said nothing.  

                "You were released in 1982," Dr. Lecter said.  "Of course, by then I was in custody myself, but those are the risks of the killer's trade, are they not?  I told you to wait, I told you what to say and how to act.  And they set you free."  

                "I was cured," Gregory gurgled.  Tears coated his cheeks.  He could hear voices in the back of his mind.  Unlike Clarice Starling, however, his voices were darker and whispered horrible things to him.  

                "Cured?  In remission, Gregory, I'll agree with that.  Medication may still the beast, but it won't kill it.  You were lucid.  But to a large degree, you _always were.  _Even when…," he smiled monstrously.  "Rip rip, bang bang, hmmmm?  You were released on June 20, 1982.  I learned that through a colleague I had been corresponding with.  Very lucky lad you were, Gregory.  One more day and who knows what would've happened?"

                "Hinckley," Gregory muttered.  He was weeping openly now.

                Dr. Lecter affected a look of patronizing surprise.  "Very _good, _Gregory!  I see this has occupied your mind.  Yes, indeed, June 21, 1982, John Hinckley, Jr, was found not guilty by reason of insanity.  Many states changed their insanity-defense laws as a result of the uproar.  Didn't matter to you – or to me, for that matter.  I was already at Chesapeake, and you…you were out.  Free to go."  He smiled again.  "You think about that, too, don't you, Gregory?  One more day and you'd probably still be there.  Back then, they looked askance at setting murderers free."  He raised a hand to his face and pantomimed shaving.  "A close shave indeed, friend Gregory."  

                He whirled, then.  It was surprising that a man of his age could whirl as quickly as he could, but Dr. Lecter could move like a man forty years younger when it suited his purposes.  He clapped a hand on the weeping man's shoulder and put his face very close.  He could smell Gregory's cologne:  Aramis.  The man had some taste.  

                "You've still got your inner demons, Gregory," Dr. Lecter hissed, "and they're dying for you to say yes to them."  

                The pitiful wretch's trembling and weeping was all the affirmance Dr. Lecter needed.  How sad, in a way.  He had hoped for better from this one.  But alas, sometimes weak clay will not hold correctly even if the best sculptor works on it.  He stood up and offered Gregory a towel from the bar taking up one side of the living room.  

                "Here you are, Gregory," Dr. Lecter pronounced.  "I have something I want you to do for me.  Do this, and I'll leave you in peace.  The FBI recently tracked me to Germany, and they caught my wife.  It was in the _Tattler_." 

                "I don't read that crap," Gregory mumbled, wiping his face with his bar towel.  

                "Pity.  Sometimes there are things of use in there, you know.  At any rate, Gregory, my wife is being held at Quantico, at the FBI facility there."  He spun and speared Gregory Lynch with his eyes.  

                "You're a reporter, Gregory," Dr. Lecter said.  "Good at weaseling out stories and developing sources.  I want you to do that for me, on this.  There's a task force assembled to capture me.  I want you to weasel your way in there, find a source, and find out what the task force is up to.  You may publish it, provided you wait a bit and I hear about it first.  After all, the American people do have the right to know."  He pursed his lips and smiled at this witticism.  

                "I want my wife back, Gregory, and I want to know what their plans are. Find that out for me, and I'll leave you in peace.  Betray me or fail me, and you'll end up in a padded cell."  Dr. Lecter eyed the man before him with an inhuman calmness.  Many might have felt some sympathy for Gregory Lynch as he wept in his chair, his carefully constructed upper-middle-class life in ruins around his feet and something much uglier exposed. Dr. Lecter did not.  Dr. Lecter had torn this from him as easily as a man might rip up a piece of papier-mache.  Gregory might weep a bit, but so long as he did his job, Dr. Lecter would be satisfied.  

                He clapped the smaller man on his back heartily. "Chin up," Dr. Lecter said jauntily.  "I can hold your inner demons at bay, you know.  Perform for me, and I shall.  I'll visit you again in a few days, and hopefully you'll have something for me."  

                The door closed behind him, and he vanished.  Gregory Lynch sat there for a long time.  Horrible images flitted through his mind, things he had tried to bury, _desires _he had tried to bury.  Then he rose, walked over to his PC and sat down.  A few minutes' work on the Web told him what the public was allowed to know about the Lecter task force.  It was indeed constituted, it was being run out of Quantico. Clicking a link informed him that it was led by Special Agent Clarice Starling, who had been unflatteringly nicknamed 'The FBI's Killing Machine'.  He stared at her picture on the website.  Pleasing smooth features, intelligent blue eyes.    Sweat beads itched on his lower lip.  He was still trembling.  

                "Dirty girl," he muttered.


	8. Over Lunch

                When the Lecter task force returned empty-handed from Spain, Clarice Starling did not know what to expect.  Painful interviews before the career board, perhaps.  Public humiliation in the press.  Three days in the public stocks. Forty lashes, perhaps.  But to her surprise, there was simply an article in the Washington _Post that noted that the Lecter task force had tracked Dr. Lecter to Torremolinos, but the raid failed to arrest him.  Her bosses simply expressed regret that they hadn't gotten him, but Clarice herself did not receive the criticism or opprobrium she had been expecting.   It wasn't until later that she realized that it was neither the FBI nor the press that sought to harshly punish those who failed:  it was herself.    There was some stuff there, it wasn't a total loss.  They had fingerprints and hair that definitively tied Dr. Lecter to the house.  That helped.  It also told Clarice Starling that her prisoner's information was good.  _

                Once she'd returned, she'd determined to make good on the promise she made Erin before she left.  She dispatched Rebecca DeGould with an FBI credit card and a pre-authorized limit off to a department store to try and get Erin some clothes, since Erin's wardrobe consisted of her suit and three sets of scrubs.  The younger agent had accepted that duty gracefully.  Clarice had to admit she was surprised:  for the spoiled youngest daughter of a wealthy man, DeGould knew how to get the maximum value for her money.    

                She had made good on her promise to Erin, taking her off base to catch a movie and a meal. Erin had also wanted to get her hair colored, as she was beginning to develop roots and did not care for it.  In the back of Clarice's mind, it seemed faintly amusing.  As a profiler, she was great.  As an FBI agent, she was pretty good too.  But as a jailer, she was a pushover.  Well, hell.  Just showed she had some sympathy.    

                So now they were eating at a Washington restaurant.  Erin eyed her suspiciously over her meal.  The visit off-base had given Clarice the desired effect:  Erin wasn't as oppositional or angry.  A bit of time in the free world had calmed her immeasurably.  So Clarice was surprised when Erin spoke.  

                "You didn't get him, did you?" she asked.  

                Clarice hesitated.  She was loath to give Erin too much information.  Upon her return, she'd discovered that Erin had hired an attorney, and that meant she had the right to talk to her counsel in privacy.  Clarice had to go along with it, but she didn't like it – all Erin had to do was give her attorney a letter or ask him to call a phone number for her, and she would be in contact with Dr. Lecter.  The thought bothered Clarice.

                "I'm not at liberty to discuss that," Clarice said neutrally. 

                "Let's face it, Agent Starling, you didn't catch him."  Erin spread her hands as if to indicate that lying would not work.  "He wasn't there.  You know, if you caught him, according to the agreement we signed, you were supposed to let me go." 

                Clarice sighed.  "When Dr. Lecter is caught, I will let you go, Dr. Lander," she said.  "C'mon now.  I've delivered on everything in that agreement to the letter." 

                Erin nodded.  "So far," she said.  Her tone was calm.  She did not seem openly confrontational or upset as she had been before.  "I do have to ask, though.  What if you don't catch him, Starling?" 

                "Excuse me?" Clarice asked. 

                "What if you don't catch him?" Erin repeated.  "He's very, very smart and very, very good at hiding.  You didn't catch him for seven years.  Then you caught up with him when he came to me, and he got away from you.  Then you got me in Germany, and he got away from you again."  

                Nettled, Clarice asked, "Is there a point to this, doctor?" 

                "Yes, there is," Erin allowed.  "Agent Starling, it's entirely possible that you and your task force may fail entirely in catching Dr. Lecter.  I'm not naïve enough to think he's going to come riding a big white horse into a heavily armed Marine base to set me free.  But I _do want to know what happens to me if you don't catch him."  _

                "You've been at Quantico for a few days," Clarice said, trying to control the roiling of her stomach.  Erin had just named her worst fear.  She had so much invested in this task force pulling off its assigned task smoothly.   "Isn't it a little early to decide we've failed?" 

                "Perhaps," Erin said.  "But it isn't too early to ask what happens to me if you do."  She lifted her fork to her mouth and ate a mouthful of chicken.  "I mean, I don't know where he is, Starling. Every day that goes by, my information gets older and older.  I don't know where he is.  You can subpoena me till the cows come home and it doesn't change that fact.  I don't know where he is, not anymore.  What if you don't catch him by the time I have my baby?  Are you going to keep me in there then, too?  What if you don't catch him in a year, Starling?  Or five years?  Am I going to be sending my child off to kindergarten and have him come back to the cell?" 

                "We would have to…decide what's reasonable," Clarice allowed.  "If the task force didn't catch Dr. Lecter in a reasonable amount of time, I'm sure we could arrange something."  

                "You're hedging," Erin said. 

                "I can't give you any specifics," Clarice said.  "We might catch Dr. Lecter tomorrow.  I do think I've been decent enough to you to warrant some credit, though.  If it wasn't for me you'd still be in jail.  Think the guards there would've taken you out for lunch?" 

                "I understand that," Erin said.  "And I do appreciate it, don't get me wrong.  But Starling, do you really think it's fair to keep me locked up so you can find out what Dr. Lecter's favorite breakfast was?"  She spread her hands.  Her tone was deliberate.  "I can't tell you where he is.  I know, I signed an agreement promising to tell you what I knew.  But I can't tell you where he is. I don't _know where he is.  I heard people in the hallway talking about Torremolinos, so I guess you must've gone there.  If he wasn't there, Starling, that's it, I have no idea where he would be headed next."  _

                Clarice Starling studied Erin Lander as if she was a rare specimen.  She seemed to be telling the truth.  Awfully convenient that she had waited to tell Clarice of this little detail until _after she had an immunity agreement signed, but still.  And it made sense:  Erin had not seen him since her arrest in Berlin.  _

                "Did you know he was in Torremolinos?" Clarice asked, watching the other woman's reactions carefully.  

                Erin shrugged.  "I suspected," she said carefully.  "I didn't know for sure, no.  But it made sense."  

                "Really? Why?"  

                "Torremolinos is crowded," Erin said.  "Lots of Englishmen, lots of Germans.  Like Florida or Hilton Head Island here.  No one would remember him.  Just a face in the crowd."  

                Again, Clarice's instincts – and she struggled with herself to be as hard as she could – told her Erin was telling the truth.  Though maybe Lecter had taught her how to lie convincingly.  _He sure could.  __Billy Rubin, she thought, and snorted.  _

                "So you don't know where Dr. Lecter is now?" 

                Erin shook her head.  

                "Where do you _think he would go?" Clarice pressed.  "If he fled Europe, where would he go?  Here?"  _

                Erin thought for a long time.  "It's hard to say," she said.  

                "Now _you're hedging," Clarice said.  She leaned forward.  _

                "You know, doctor," she said, "I've tried to make things easy on you.  I'm the one who argued for full immunity for you.  The higher-ups I answer to thought I should just offer you a sentence reduction in return for cooperating.  So how about a little help?  Where do you think he'd go?" 

                Erin Lander considered.  She took several minutes before replying.  

                "Off the continent, definitely," she said slowly.  "He'd leave Europe.  Too easy to track him there." 

                "Would he come here?" 

                There was a quiet sadness in Erin's response that Clarice couldn't help but feel sympathy for.  "No.  Not here.  Here is too dangerous."  

                "You don't think he'd come back to the US?  Even though you're here?" 

                Erin shook her head.  "No," she said.  "Too risky. He won't…he won't risk his freedom."

                This didn't sound right to Clarice.  The good doctor had his faults, but leaving those who needed him was not one of them.  His words echoed in her mind.  _I crossed half the world to watch you run, Clarice. _  Was he really going to abandon his pregnant wife?  It seemed unlikely.  

                "You sure on that?" 

                Erin nodded regretfully.  "Coming back here…wouldn't help me.  It would just land him in a cell."

                Clarice nodded.  She decided to try changing the subject, not wanting to upset the surgeon.  "Have you thought at all about what happens when you get out?  What you'll do?" 

                Erin shrugged.  "If I can get a medical license, I'll just be a doctor, I guess, somewhere.  I'll get by.    I've been on my own since I was fourteen."

                Clarice sighed.  This sounded depressingly familiar.  "Have you?" she asked, hoping Erin would elaborate.  

                "My father died when I was eight," Erin said.  "My mother died when I was fourteen.  Did a few years in orphanages and foster care.  I was lucky, though.  When I was sixteen, they put me with some fosters that knew how to work the system.  They helped me get into college, and from there I was on my own."  She eyed Clarice Starling carefully.  "Got through college and med school all on my own," she added.  "I can get by on my own, Starling."  

                Clarice Starling closed her eyes and thought about her own childhood, and how similar it had been.  For a moment or two she actually felt guilty about imprisoning Erin.  But then she reminded herself what would happen when Erin was finally set free.  She would settle in for a bit, be completely cooperative.  And then one day she would just disappear.  Like Starling, she would seek Hannibal Lecter.  The real question would be who got to him first.  

                …

                Gregory Lynch got to work quickly.  

                Like many journalists, he had cultivated sources in the Justice Department and the FBI.  Getting into the Lecter task force was another matter.  Clarice Starling's discovery of Hannibal Lecter in Germany had revitalized FBI interest in his capture.  The task force was closed off and hard to get to.  Clarice Starling knew her prey well, and she discouraged her agents from discussing the matter with those not on the task force.  All Dr. Lecter would need would be one leak.  

                And now it was up to him to provide that leak.  The price for failure was just too high.  Gregory had studied his former mentor from afar, as a man might study a dangerous lion.  Dr. Lecter had convinced a man to swallow his tongue using nothing but words.  Dr. Lecter knew the demons in Gregory Lynch's mind.  Dr. Lecter had also had the foresight to take Gregory's medication, leaving him only enough for a few days.  He had discovered a pleasant note from the doctor in his medicine cabinet, advising him that he would get a resupply when they met again.  

                Gregory knew he had to produce.  He called one of his favorite sources over at Justice.  The source was noncommittal.  It wasn't going to be easy finding someone on the Lecter task force who was willing to talk off the record.  It was a plum assignment.  No one on it wanted to be kicked off for talking to the press out of school.  

                While Gregory talked, his mind flitted back and forth between his mission and much darker, evil things.  This didn't make sense, he knew.  He was on his meds.  He'd been good.  He didn't deserve this.  But the reappearance of Dr. Lecter in his life had given his mental demons more strength, and they whispered to him quietly as he spoke on the phone.  

                He clamped his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, trying to force the phantom voices away.  He didn't want to hurt anyone.  Really, he didn't.  He'd tried to get over 1979.  He didn't want to go back to the asylum.  If he hurt someone now they'd never let him out.  Dr. Lecter had to understand that.  He had to.  

                "OK, Greg, I can sneak you a tidbit or so," his source said.  "Also…lemme make a couple of phone calls and see what I can do, OK?  But drop by my office, I got something you might like to see." 

                "What is it?" Gregory Lynch asked hopefully.  

                "A letter.  The task force hit Torremolinos, that's public knowledge.  Lecter left Starling a letter.  That isn't.  Want a copy?"  

                "You know it," Gregory said.  He sounded quite confident and enthusiastic on the phone.  One might never suspect that images of pain and death and mutilation were tumbling through his mind, nor that voices were whispering to him from the dark recesses of his mind, urging him to hurt, kill, maim, rape.  

                "Wanna meet for lunch?  I'll give you the letter then." Deputy Assistant Attorney General Bob Sneed asked.  "And Greg, man, off the record, you know that, right?" 

                "Fred," Gregory grinned back, "when have I ever wronged you?"  

                "Good deal," Sneed said.  "You know the usual place, right?" 

                "Yeah, that little restaurant over on Mass Ave, right?" 

                There was plenty of work for Gregory to do while he waited, but the appointed time came soon.  Everything seemed to happen so quickly for him now.  He had to do something.  He had to get a source in the investigation.  He had to save his sanity from Dr. Lecter.  He had to stop the dirty girls.  _NO!  That was wrong.  That was bad.  He had to…get going or he'd miss his appointment.  _

                Bob Sneed was there in the lobby of the restaurant when he got there.  Gregory shook hands with him and grinned, joking and making small talk.  The voices of the demons were unnoticed by Sneed.  That was very good.  Sneed didn't know about the dirty girls, either.  Or maybe he did and wasn't letting on.  

                Once they were seated, things began in earnest.  

                "So how've you been, Bob?"  he asked jovially.  "Things going well?" 

                "Oh, yeah," Sneed said.  "I'm Deputy Assistant Attorney General now.  Krendler's old job.  You knew Krendler, right?"  

                "Yeah," Gregory said.  "Heard he got killed by some psycho." 

                "Yup," Sneed said.  "Dr. Lecter, actually.  Ate his brain."  He shook his head in mock sympathy, not noticing how deadly pale Gregory Lynch went when he said that name.  "Freakin' psycho.  But anyways, they needed someone to fill Krendler's job.  And that was yours truly."  He gestured at himself and chuckled.  

                "Does he scare you?" Gregory asked, his voice a bit hoarse. 

                Sneed looked puzzled.  "Lecter?  Nah, nobody's heard hide nor hair from him for years.  We just bagged his wife, though, you knew that, right?"  

                Gregory nodded.  "What can you tell me about that?  Off the record, naturally." 

                Sneed shrugged.  "Starling's running the task force," he said indifferently.  "She came to us and said she wanted to offer the wife immunity to help find Lecter.  We said sure, OK, whatever, just get us Lecter.  Then she wanted to keep the wife at Quantico.  I don't know what her angle is, maybe she's just jealous or something.  Wife has health problems, kidney disease or something like that.  But as long as we saw results, no biggie.  Well, Starling's got the wife in cold storage at Quantico.  We're getting some info from her, but not much.  But the wife said Torremolinos, so off went the task force to get him."  

                Gregory nodded.  

                "Torremolinos was a bust, we didn't get him.  But it wasn't a total bust, because he _had been there.  Fingerprints all over the place, hairs on the pillows, everything.  Lecter must be getting sloppy in his old age.  That's good for us, means he'll slip up and we'll get him sooner or later."  _

                "Do you think Clarice Starling is fit to run the task force?"   Gregory pulled off asking the question very carefully.  "She's been sort of controversial. She shot Evelda Drumgo four years ago, shot Buffalo Bill too, long time ago.  Is she the one you want?" 

                Sneed shrugged.  "Krendler didn't like Starling," he said nonchalantly.  "I dunno what his problem with her was.  Nice eye candy, something to look at, you know?  Besides, if she screws up the task force, we'll pull her off."  His tone was carefully neutral. Gregory Lynch, a good reporter despite his demons, picked up on it.  The Official Word.  He wanted the unofficial word.

                "Is there anything else you want to tell me?" he asked "Off the record, Bob. Swear to God."  

                Bob Sneed observed the man before him soberly.  "Well, you know Starling isn't too popular," he said cautiously.  "Lot of people think she owes for Paul.  I mean, she just _sat there while Lecter killed him.  And Paul had some buddies around here, you know.  Thing is, she's put in time on the job, if you do it the way Paul did, it's gonna look too obvious."  He sighed, reminiscing.  "Paul was always such a psycho on stuff like that," he said.  "Paul loved breaking people.  Thing is, he was gonna get caught.  When you break someone, you gotta cover yourself, so that they can't prove it later on."  _

                "Go on," Gregory said.  In his pocket was a microcassette player, recording each and every word.  Perhaps Dr. Lecter would appreciate it.  Gregory hoped he would.    

                "We're gonna let Starling have her way for now," Sneed said.  "It's easy, so simple.  Most of us are just waiting for Starling to screw things up totally, then she's back on jump-out squad where she belongs.  We have our sources in the investigation.  Starling may think she can hide screwups from us, but the fact is, we know before she tells us.  Once she botches it totally – which she will, for Chrissake, the woman is _not _management material – we'll be able to break her, and break her _clean._"  

                Gregory Lynch tilted his head and grinned.  "Now Bob, you know you wouldn't have told me that unless you were gonna help me."  

                Sneed raised his hands.  "You gotta understand something here, Greg.  This is bigger.  There are people who want to see Starling pay for Krendler.  This is sort of private business.  She sat on her little ass and watched Lecter kill Paul, so she has to answer.  Career Board cleared Starling, so we can't go after her in the normal way.  But we can't do this the wrong way either.  And I can't have a reporter screwing it up.  You gotta be extra careful.  No publishing until you find some cover for us."  

                Gregory raised his palms and displayed thirty-two gleaming white teeth.  Behind that open and honest face, demons jumped back and forth.  

                "C'mon, Bob," he coaxed.  "You can get me a source on the task force?  Someone who'll talk quietly to me?"  

                "Quietly," Sneed stressed.  "You can't screw us over, though.  You come to me before you publish, I'm telling you. Otherwise you'll be out, Greg.  I mean it." 

                "Scout's honor," Greg said.  

                "Here you go," Sneed said, and slid a manila envelope.  "In there you'll find a copy of the letter Lecter sent Starling.  There's also a little white envelope in there with a phone number.  You call 'em.  You gotta give the right name, otherwise they'll hang up." 

                Gregory took the envelope and slid it into his briefcase.  "Got it.  What's the name?" 

                Sneed looked to and fro to make sure no one was listening.  

                "Becky," he said.


	9. Sub Rosa

            The apartment was quiet.  Dusk was falling swiftly in the residential area.  The kids in the street were called inside.  It was calm outside and quiet inside.  The voices of the two men in the apartment were calm and conversational.  

                Gregory Lynch lay on his couch, staring up at the ceiling.  Despite the presence of the monster in his apartment, he felt much calmer.  He had something. Dr. Lecter would not drive him insane.  Dr. Lecter sat next to the couch in a chair, speaking calmly.  The scene was almost a lunatic parody of psychotherapy.  

                "Go on, Gregory," Dr. Lecter said calmly.  

                Gregory grinned a manic grin.  "They almost caught you in Torremolinos," he whispered.  His throat felt parched from talking.  After a lengthy conversation with his source, he had information that would please the doctor.  "They don't have any idea where you are, though."  

                "You didn't mention anything, did you, Gregory?" 

                Gregory shook his head.  "Oh, no.  I wouldn't do that."  His voice turned pleading for a moment.  "Dr. Lecter…please.  I don't want to make you mad.  I wouldn't make you mad." 

                "A wise choice," Dr. Lecter said indifferently.  "There's hope for you yet, friend Gregory.  Tell me more about Sneed, though."  His voice turned mocking on the pronunciation of the name.  "And of those who wish to see Starling fail."  

                "They…errrr…uh…they don't like her," Gregory started.  "They think she should answer for Krendler." 

                Dr. Lecter sighed.  "Whyever would they think that?  _I took care of Mr. Krendler.  Clarice had nothing to do with it."  _

                Gregory held up his hands.  "I'm just reporting it, Dr. Lecter," he pleaded.  "Don't get mad at me."  

                "They're going to break her," Gregory added.   "Wait until she screws up.  They don't have anything, they're still working on Torremolinos.  They're hoping to get something good from your wife."  

                "Have you heard of her condition?" Dr. Lecter's voice was deceptively calm.  

                "No," Gregory swallowed.  "I…um…I didn't ask." 

                Dr. Lecter pursed his lips.  "Then make sure you ask _next time, Gregory."  _

                "I will!  I will!  I swear I will."  

                "Very well," Dr. Lecter said, and extended his hand to Gregory.  From it, he dropped six capsules onto the man's chest.  

                "There you are, Gregory," he said calmly.  "Three days worth of medication.  Enough to still the savage beast until your next session."  He chuckled coldly.  

                Dr. Lecter left the apartment and walked back along the quiet street to his car.  The gleaming XJS sedan waited for him on the next street over from Gregory's.  Dr. Lecter had leased the Jaguar with one of his many identities.  He sat down behind the wheel and thought for a moment.  

                He had what he wanted.  Next, he had to decide the next step.  He needed to free his wife.  How to do that would be exceedingly difficult.  Quantico was a  Marine base, and no false identity papers, no matter how good, would convince him to get on the base.  

                He picked up the Beltway.  He drove fast and well, though close enough to the posted speed limit that any police officer might be willing to pass him up for pricier prey.  As he drove, he pondered.  There had to be a way out of this.  There had to be.  

                Ahead of him in the next lane over, heading south, he noticed a large blue Crown Victoria of the type favored by police.  Automatically, his foot came off the gas.  Who only knew? Then he eyed the car carefully as he neared it.  In the back, he noticed, was a blonde woman.  A brunette was driving.  Then he noticed the blonde in the back staring at him slack-jawed.  

                When he realized who it was, he almost drove into the concrete barrier separating the lanes.  Erin.  His Erin, sitting in the back of an FBI prowl car.  But who was driving?  He risked dropping back behind the big Crown Vic.  Erin watched him carefully, her eyes a mixture of delight and pain.  Was she forgetting everything he'd taught her?  She couldn't get out of the car; the back doors would have no doorhandles.  But if she called too much attention to him, it would ruin everything.  And yet there was such hope in her eyes at the sight of him.  

                Dr. Lecter carefully tried to make out what he could through the metal screen separating the front seat from the back.  He dropped over to the right of the Vic and sped up a bit.  Dark brown hair, deceptively slight form.  He caught a flash of blue eyes in the rearview mirror.  Yes, it was Clarice.  She drove carefully but fast.  She did not turn around as he pulled up alongside her.  Dr. Lecter was thankful for that; it gave him a chance to look at her and imagine what might have been.  The two women in his life, in the same car.  What had they been doing?  Why would Clarice permit her captive off base?   After a few moments of watching her, he dropped back.  

                Dr. Lecter let out a mighty sigh.  For his wife's benefit, he mouthed the words, _Not now but soon.  Be strong.    For a moment, he toyed with the idea of simply ramming the Jaguar into the side of the Crown Vic and taking his wife.  But no, that would hardly work.  Then he would simply have two wrecked cars.  He could see himself trying to escape on foot with his wife, while the FBI leisurely set up a dragnet to capture them.  _

                He could see Erin plant her palm against the glass of the window, and he sighed.  It wasn't time.  She had to know that.  _Soon, Erin, very soon, he mouthed.  Then he pressed the accelerator down, not wanting to drag this out and make her suffer.  As the car sped by, he stole just one glance to the left at the driver.  He let out another sigh and took the exit to his hotel._

                …

                Clarice Starling was pleased with herself.  Her phone had not rung once.  Her prisoner was contented.  For once she felt like the good guy instead of the heavy.   That was nice.  Not a bad day. 

                Some guy in a black Jaguar blew by her on the right.  For a moment, Clarice toyed with the idea of turning on the lights under the grille, pulling the turkey over and maybe getting the local boys to ticket him.  But no, she'd end up getting hollered at by the locals for interfering in their jurisdiction.  

                "Nut case," she muttered under her breath and glanced in the rearview.  Erin was sitting calmly in the back.  She grinned at Starling in the small reflection of the mirror and said nothing. 

                The trip back to Quantico went quickly.  Once back at the building, she kept an eye on Erin after letting her out of the car.  Perhaps the taste of freedom might make her want to bolt.  But, no:  Erin seemed calm.  Happy, even.  That was good.  If she was happy, she'd be more likely to cooperate. 

                "See?" Clarice said.  "Wasn't that a good day?"  

                Erin Lander smiled, a small smile as if appreciating a private joke only she understood.  "Oh, yes," she agreed.  She was calm when Clarice brought her back upstairs and back to her room.  She went in without a complaint and Clarice headed back down to Behavioral Sciences to see what her crew had turned up about catching Dr. Lecter.  She stuck her head in cubicles and chatted briefly with her agents.  

                When Clarice entered the office that Rebecca DeGould shared with two other agents, she noticed Rebecca was on the phone.  That in and of itself wasn't too odd.  But as she approached, she saw the younger woman's eyes narrow. 

                "Hey…I'll talk to you later.  I gotta go, my boss just came in."  

                Rebecca hung up the phone and smiled cheerily at Clarice.  Clarice smiled back.  Both smiles seemed forced and fake.  

                "On the phone?" Clarice asked.  

                Rebecca nodded.  "Just a friend.  She called me, I didn't call her."  She rolled her eyes.  "Broke up with her boyfriend and she was in tears.  You know how it is."  

                Clarice nodded humorlessly.  "Still, I'd rather you looked for Dr. Lecter rather than make personal phone calls, Agent DeGould."  

                DeGould accepted the rebuke with some good grace.  "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that," she said smoothly.  "I'd like to try my hand at talking to Dr. Lander."  

                Clarice had to give DeGould credit for chutzpah, at least.  She'd just caught her chatting with a girlfriend – if indeed it was that – and here she was asking for access to the task force's prime source on Dr. Lecter.  She thought about it, pointedly not smiling.  

                "I'm not sure about that," Clarice said.  "You know, sometimes it works better if you just have one point of contact."  

                DeGould nodded.  Her eyes were veiled.  Yes, there was something more here, she was just hiding it.  But Clarice was absolutely sure that there was more going on than DeGould let on.  

                "That's true, to an extent," DeGould began.  "But then again, good-cop bad-cop has worked for years.  I'm closer in age to Dr. Lander than you are, plus, if she feels guilty about having maced me in Berlin, we may be able to use that.  And it seems that there's some sort of tension between you and her."  

                Clarice's mouth tightened.  "The age thing is of minor importance," she said.  "If anything, being a couple of years older gives me a bit more authority.  You've got the psych background, you know that."  Her tone was most carefully neutral.   "And there isn't any tension that I've noticed."  

                "Really?  I seem to recall her smartmouthing you at the airport.  Then you roughed her up a bit," Rebecca pointed out archly.  

                Clarice Starling said nothing for a few moments while she took that in and took several breaths.  Finally, realizing that all of this was finally coming to the core, she spoke.  

                "I did not 'rough up' Dr. Lander at the airport," Clarice said.  "She may have been a little flip, yes.  She'd just been arrested and transported back here against her will.  I was expecting a little lip." 

                "You grabbed her and almost pulled her off her feet," Rebecca DeGould said.  "She was pregnant and in handcuffs."  

                "If it bothers you so much," Clarice said, her tone quite deliberate and harsh, "I can arrange for you to move off the task force to another posting."  

                Rebecca seemed less than terrified by the threat.  She let out an incredulous chuckle.  "You'd kick me off the task force for expressing concern that you used physical force against a pregnant woman who wasn't causing a problem?"  She didn't have to add that Clarice probably wouldn't win that battle.  Both women knew the rules for when an FBI agent was allowed to use physical force, and someone in handcuffs making wisecracks did not qualify.  

                _Besides, Clarice thought, __maybe she's just saying I should stick to the rules too.  I mean, I always used to hate it when the bosses would do things they shouldn't.  And maybe she just wants to see the task force succeed.  Yeah, and maybe I'm telling myself this hoping to God I'll believe it myself.  _

_                "Do you have a problem with me, Agent DeGould?" Clarice asked bluntly.  _

                The attractive face closed into a calm mask.  "A problem with you, Agent Starling?  Not at all.  I do think sometimes you try and do everything yourself.  When this task force was formed, you told us you'd picked us because we were the best.  Then anything that's important you try and run yourself.  Maybe I can get something out of Dr. Lander faster than you can.  Maybe I can't.  But you won't even let me try."  

                Clarice recognized what was happening here.  Rebecca DeGould was too smart to openly fight with her boss, but there was still something going on.  And she couldn't help but shake the feeling that DeGould was not to be trusted.  But DeGould had played her cards carefully:  if Clarice tried to kick her off the force, she could already tell that she would end up getting splattered in the resulting shitstorm.  And she wanted this task force to succeed so badly.  

                "Well, Agent DeGould," Clarice said slowly,  "I have certainly tried to share credit where it's due. If you have an example where I've taken credit for someone else's work, speak up, by all means.   As far as Dr. Lander goes, she does know me, she's been becoming more cooperative and I think that'll improve.  I'm not sure bringing someone new into the equation is the best way to deal with it."  She grinned.  Two could play at the technicality game.  

                "So you're saying I can't even try." 

                Clarice shrugged.  "You're sure you can do better than me, Agent DeGould.  What if you do worse?  What if she thinks you're there to retaliate for Berlin and freezes up?  She's pregnant, so she's a little emotional right now."  Part of her wanted to ask _What if Erin Lander thinks you're a stuck-up little snot just like I do and doesn't want to talk to you?  Neither one of us had rich daddies who paid our way through Hahh-vahd.    _

                "I have no intention of retaliating," Rebecca DeGould said calmly.   The bitchy fires were dying down now, into coals of resentment.  "I am simply asking for permission to try."  

                Fine.  If she wanted to showcase how cooperative and good she was, Clarice could do the same.  "I'll consider it, DeGould, and I'll give you an answer tomorrow.  That's about the best I can offer you."  

                DeGould nodded suddenly and gave up the gauntlet.  "All right, then," she said.  "Was there anything else you wanted?"  

                "Not right now," Clarice answered.  "If you have anything else that comes up – another good suspect, say, -- please get me immediately.  Don't wait until the next staff meeting.  I want to know the minute you do."  

                "I'll do that," DeGould said carefully.  

                Clarice Starling left her subordinate's office.  _Bitch, both women thought at the same time.  _

                Rebecca DeGould watched her go.  She was determined to wait until Clarice Starling left the building.  She'd have to call Sneed, but that could wait.  It was fortunate, really – Sneed could give her much-needed protective cover.  

                Clarice Starling might know what one of her cards was now, but that hardly mattered.  When you came right down to it, Starling's having grabbed the doctor in the airport wasn't a big card to play.  In other circumstances, she might have been able to claim that Clarice had twisted the doctor's arm, or something else crueler.  But there were other agents there, plus God only knew how many other people walking around.   No matter.  

                But DeGould was quite determined to see this through to the end.  Clarice thought that Dr. Lander was coming around?  That made sense.  The doctor was basically being held in isolation.  And Starling had shown a bit more sophistication than DeGould had originally credited her with.  A little taste of the outside world, just as a reward.  Perhaps Starling had actually studied a bit down there at Cow University.  

                But two could play at that game.  Rebecca DeGould carefully stuck to her assigned tasks, running checks on airline flights from Europe to South America.  It was stupid; Dr. Lecter could make himself look years younger, if so he chose.   The queries they were pulling were too narrow – dates of birth five years older and younger than Dr. Lecter's current age.  Rebecca DeGould might have no respect for Clarice Starling, but she did respect Dr. Lecter's intelligence and drive.   The man could probably make himself look twenty years younger if he wanted to.  

                Once she noticed darkness from under Clarice's door, she prepared things.  Her first prop was relatively simple:  she called down and ordered a pizza.  When the front desk called her to tell her it was here, she headed for the elevator and picked it up.  The pizza boy got a generous if unremarkable tip and then it was time.  

                Rebecca got back in the elevator.  This time, she rode up, not down.  Up to the fifth floor, where there was IT and data processing, files storage, and Dr. Erin Lander.  The guard at Erin's door glanced over at her and then did a double take when he realized she wasn't Clarice and had a pizza.    

                "Can I…help you?" he asked.  

                "Yes, thank you," Rebecca DeGould said.  "I want to get in there and talk with our prisoner there."  

                The guard hesitated.  "Access to this prisoner is only through Agent Starling," he protested.  

                DeGould was prepared for this.  She held the box with one hand and fished her cell phone out of her purse with the other.  Sneed was on speed dial.  She raised one finger politely.  

                "Hi," she said once Sneed was on the line.  "I have a guard here who won't let me in."  She handed the phone to the guard.  

                "Hello?" Bob Sneed said. 

                "Yes, this is Agent Christianson," the guard said.  "Can I help you?"  

                "This is Deputy Assistant Attorney General Bob Sneed, Agent Christianson.  I'm sending in someone to interrogate Dr. Lander."  

                "This prisoner's under Agent Starling's authority, sir, no one told me."  

                "Look," Sneed said, "this is part of a DOJ audit on Agent Starling.  Civil rights inquiry.  Let her in, don't say anything about it, and you'll be fine.  Say anything, and you'll be investigating break-ins along the DEW stations in Alaska."

                "Audit?"  the guard said.  "No one said anything about that." 

                "Yeah," Sneed said.  "It's a civil rights audit.  Starling's not supposed to know.  Look, just let her in, let her do her thing, and it'll all be cool." 

                The guard thought about it for a moment and then shrugged.  Wasn't his job to be worrying about Starling anyway.  

                "All right," he said, and opened Erin Lander's cell door.  

                Erin Lander was sitting on her bed watching TV when the door opened.  She gave DeGould a curious look when she came in.  

                "Who are you?" Erin Lander asked.  She shifted uncomfortably and then got off the bed.  Rebecca thought she did indeed recognize her.  

                "I'm Agent Rebecca DeGould," DeGould said smoothly.   

                "What do you want?" Erin asked.   

                Rebecca took a step inside the room and smiled.  "What do I want?  What makes you think I want something?" 

                Erin Lander sized up the woman and then said, "Everyone who comes in here wants something from me."  

                DeGould nodded knowingly.  "Just to talk," she said disarmingly.  "Can I talk to you, Dr. Lander?  I thought we could chat for a bit."  She raised the lid the pizza box and let the scent fill the room.  "Brought you something to eat, if you like.  I know they feed you from the cafeteria.  Lousy food, isn't it?"  

                Erin Lander had lived with Hannibal Lecter for a few years.  During that time, she had been introduced to gourmet food much different from any she had eaten before meeting him.  But she had also been deprived of the more plebian types of food.  Dr. Lecter frowned upon pizza, hamburgers, and the like.  That food was for the masses, not for his rarified tastes. 

                Her eyes locked on the forbidden treat.  DeGould smiled.  Her first theory was correct.  Erin Lander had been held in isolation for a while, with only Starling to talk to.  That would have weakened her psychological defenses.  And really, it wasn't much different from when Clarice had brought the medications to the jail.  Bring a small gift; make your target feel obligated for it, and you could reap many times the value of the gift.    Plus, you'd get them thinking positive things about you.  

                "Go ahead," DeGould urged.  "Take a piece.  I just want to talk to you, that's all." 

                Slowly, hesitantly, Erin reached for the box and removed a slice.  She ate it silently for a few minutes before speaking.  

                "If you're asking if I know where my husband is, I don't," she said guardedly.  "I told Agent Starling."  

                "Actually, that isn't what I wanted to talk to you about, Dr. Lander," DeGould said pleasantly.  "It's Agent Starling I wanted to talk to you about."  

                Erin shrugged.  "What about her?"  

                Rebecca DeGould sighed and looked diffident.  "Well…you know, Agent Starling's not everything she seems to be," she began.  "She's…obsessed with Dr. Lecter.  She's so concerned with getting him she doesn't care what she has to do in order to get him.  Including…well, including what she's doing to you."  

                Erin seemed nonchalant.  "She hasn't been too bad, I guess," Erin said. "I mean, she got me immunity.  And took me into the city today.  Could be a lot worse."  

                Now she would have to be careful.  Overacting could kill this.  But Rebecca knew well what she wanted to do.  She let out a sigh and looked down at the floor, affecting a mien of quiet regret.    

                "That's for now, Dr. Lander," she said.  "Once Dr. Lecter is caught, she's not going to be so nice to you by half."  She shook her head in regret.  "She's going to put you in prison, once this is done."  

                Erin Lander's eyes widened.  "She can't do that," she protested.  "We signed an agreement.  The US Attorney won't prosecute me.  I have immunity."  

                "That's what Agent Starling wants you to think," DeGould said quietly.  "The agreement you signed…it's bogus.  They're finding a way to get around it as soon as Lecter is caught."  

                Dr. Erin Lander gawped openly at Rebecca DeGould.  DeGould could see the fear in her eyes, and grinned internally.   She _had _to have thought about the possibility that Starling was going to screw her over during the long hours locked in here with only the TV and radio for company.  

                "But…wait…they can't do that," Erin protested.  

                "They shouldn't.  But Starling is.  I heard her on the phone to the US Attorney this afternoon, once she brought you back," DeGould said.  She raised her hands to show Erin open palms.  "Understand now, I'm not agreeing with her.  But I heard her on the phone…she was telling them to find a way to break the agreement once Lecter was in custody.  'Put the little bitch in jail for the next twenty years,' she said, 'I don't care what we signed.  Find a way.  We'll take the kid and put her in jail where she belongs.'"  

                "No!" Erin said.  "No, that can't…she can't do that!"  But horrid belief was dawning in her eyes.  "But she…she was nice to me…why would she…?"  She hung her head and stared blankly at the floor.  The slice of pizza hung forgotten in her hand.  

                "She's nice to you now, because she thinks you can get her Lecter," DeGould said.  "Even if you don't know where he is, you know what he's like now, what he's doing now.  She'll be oh so sweet to you until we get him.  Once we do…well, then, that's all she wrote for you. C'mon, she lied to your husband before, she's lying to you."  

                Erin stood up and paced up and down the room.  "What?  Then I gotta get out of here," she said.  "I need to call my attorney, and I got to--," 

                DeGould smiled sympathetically.  "Look," she said.  "Calm down.  Listen to me here, okay?"  

                Erin stared at the FBI agent like a deer facing an oncoming Mack truck.  

                "I know some people over at the Department of Justice," DeGould said.  "People bigger than Starling will ever be.  We can help.  But you gotta work with me here, okay?"

                "What do you want me to do?" Erin asked.  She looked scared.  _Good_, Rebecca DeGould thought.  

                "We need to buy some time," DeGould said.  "Now I know you don't like being here, but let's face it, it _is _a lot better than jail.    For right now, I need you to cooperate, so Starling doesn't realize you know.  But drag it out a little, you know?  Don't give her everything, if you catch my drift.  Sort of clam up a little."  

                "I can't clam up," Erin protested.  "I signed an agreement.  I have to tell the FBI what I know.  If I don't they can send me back to jail anyway."  

                "Just a little," Rebecca explained.  "Tell her just enough to keep her happy.  The absolute minimum.  That'll buy some time.  Eventually they'll send me in, then you tell me more.  That'll get Starling off your back for good.  And when you help me, Dr. Lander, then I can help you.  I'm not quite as evil as Starling is, and frankly, I don't have anything personal against you.  Seems kind of like Starling does."   She smiled conspiratorially at the surgeon.

                Erin Lander cogitated.  "She's jealous," she said softly, as if confiding a great secret.   

                Rebecca DeGould nodded.  "Yes, she is," she said, and found herself very satisfied with things.   Hopefully, a few more follow-up visits would ensure that Dr. Lander would distrust Starling.  Then she could slide in, get the doctor talking, and shove Starling aside.   

                Rebecca DeGould did not know what would happen next.  She would be as surprised as anyone when it did.  But it would work out better than she had ever expected.   


	10. Doctor's Appointment

__

Author's note: 

I believe this is the first time readers of my fics have attempted to organize into a club to request a horrible fate for one of my characters. Will I be receiving a written proposal from its president shortly? Are there going to be polls on the lecterphiles list over it? But I'm afraid I haven't given you enough reasons to hate Agent DeGould as of yet. Further angst will be forthcoming. But for now, some action and humor in lieu of the angst. 

A few days passed. Dr. Hannibal Lecter remained holed up in his suite at the five-star hotel he was staying at. Erin Lander remained holed up in her favored-prisoner cell at Quantico. Clarice Starling was just about as holed up in the basement floors of Behavioral Sciences. Meetings with the force, meetings with her superiors, phone calls, conference calls. It was enough to make a grown woman cry, even one who had worked jump-out squad duty. 

There had been no repeats of the arguments between DeGould and Starling. Clarice found herself torn. All of her instincts said that DeGould was up to no good. But she couldn't prove anything, and if DeGould was going to behave, then fine. She kept the younger agent close, letting her have some management of the team. That didn't bother Clarice. Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer. With DeGould running some management stuff, Clarice could better keep an eye on her. 

Perhaps four days later, Agent DeGould tactfully reminded Starling that Erin Lander's follow-up appointment with her ob-gyn was that day. Clarice took a look at her schedule and found herself booked solid. She didn't trust DeGould, but the younger agent was a promising sleuth, and she didn't want to waste one of her good sleuths with a waste-of-time detail like this. DeGould had found him once. She might do it again. Plus, truth be told, DeGould's prior campaign for access to Dr. Lander had Clarice worried. The thought of DeGould alone in a car with her prisoner for a while made Clarice uneasy. 

"You could give it to Petrie," DeGould suggested. "It's not like he does much other than bounce off the walls and annoy everyone." 

"Yeah," Clarice hedged, "but I'm not sure…he can set people on edge, and I don't want to get her on edge…last thing I need is her attorney claiming harassment or something." 

Rebecca DeGould chuckled. For a moment she wondered if Clarice had any suspicion at all that she was quietly talking to Clarice's superiors, as well as Dr. Lander, behind her back. But no, everything seemed to be fine. 

"You just need to spell it out for him, Agent Starling," DeGould said. "He's an alright guy, but he needs to be told." 

"Told what?" Clarice asked, running a hand through her hair and feeling frazzled. 

"Told what he can do, and what he can't," DeGould said delicately. "You know, if he can frisk her, if he can cuff her. Whatever you feel to be appropriate. But you have to spell it out for Petrie." 

Clarice nodded. Rebecca DeGould left to go send Petrie into Starling's office. She rather hoped he would do something dumb. He probably would. That might be the next screwup needed to get Clarice Starling busted back down. It would work out better than she ever could have hoped. 

William Petrie skidded into Clarice's office perhaps forty-five seconds later. 

"You wanted me?" he asked excitedly. For a moment Clarice expected him to salute. She sighed and put her hand on the desk calmly. _Don't yell at him. He's just excited. _

"Yes, Agent Petrie," Clarice said calmly. "Dr. Lander is going back to the doctor's today. I want you to take her." 

"Okay," Petrie said. He grinned and bounced a few times on his heels. "You can count on me, chief," he said eagerly. 

_Did he just call me 'Chief'? _Clarice Starling thought incredulously. She sighed. 

"Petrie," she said as patiently, "now listen up here. I don't want you to…aggravate Dr. Lander any more than she needs to be." 

"I won't," Petrie promised, sounding bizarrely like a little kid promising not to break Mommy's good vase. 

"Good. Hold off on the Dragnet stuff, Petrie. We want this witness cooperative. Don't frisk her, don't cuff her unless she gets unruly." _Don't act like a spaz who's been given some authority, _was what she ached to say. Images of Petrie demanding to be there for Dr. Lander's pelvic exam, and the subsequent storm that would bring from Dr. Lander's attorney, played through her mind. "And for Christ's sake, don't make yourself an issue. When they have her at the doctor, you wait outside the room till they're done. Don't try and insist on staying in there with her. There's…things they need to do for her. That she won't want you watching for." 

Petrie looked vaguely hurt, as if she had accused him of planning all of that. "I won't," he said. "I'll be nice." 

"Good," Clarice said. "Go to the motor pool and grab a car. I'll bring you up once you do." 

Petrie rushed out of Starling's office at top speed. Clarice shook her head as she watched him go. _Jesus, that man must run at hyperspeed round the clock. _ Perhaps ten minutes later, he skidded back in. 

"I got the keys," he said importantly, as if he had needed to fight off a few wild alligators in order to get them. 

"Okay then," Clarice said. She rose and took him upstairs. The guard at Erin's door gave her an odd look. 

"Doctor's appointment," Clarice sighed. The guard nodded silently and opened the door. 

Erin Lander was sitting at her table reading a book when they entered. She was wearing the suit she had worn when she was captured. Clarice noticed that the suit appeared to fit a little tight, and sighed. Hopefully the clothes DeGould had gotten her would fit better. She'd already gotten yelled at for spending a few hundred dollars on clothes for her prisoner. The upper echelons had no problem with her spending thousands of dollars to capture Dr. Lecter, but apparently clothing a woman who might be able to point them to him was out of the question. What was she supposed to do once Erin got too big to wear the clothes she had? Make her run around naked?

"You ready, Dr. Lander?" Clarice said in a friendly tone. 

"Yes," Erin said, eying Petrie curiously. 

"Agent Petrie will actually be taking you to your appointment today," Clarice explained. 

A look of distaste came over Erin's face. "I don't want a _man _in there with me when they examine me," she protested. 

Clarice held up her hands. "He won't be. He'll be outside the door, of course, but you'll have your privacy." 

That seemed to pacify Erin, and she went along readily enough with them. Petrie had pulled the car up into the turnaround, and Erin went into the back seat willingly enough. Clarice watched them go, and swallowed. It would be OK. Not even Petrie could screw this up. 

In the car, Erin Lander was quiet on the ride to her doctor's office. Petrie was excited. They'd trusted him with guarding the prisoner! Only he stood between Erin Lander and freedom. But he would be nice. Agent Starling was _depending _on him to see that this went off smoothly. Agent Petrie determined that it would. 

So he sat next to her in the waiting room and crossed his arms importantly. Once she was called back in and installed in an exam room, William Petrie stood with his back against the wall and drew himself up to attention. A nurse came in to take care of some of the preliminaries – a history, a blood sample. Petrie nodded knowingly at her when she came in and when she came out. 

Hannibal Lecter had explained to his wife how he had escaped from Memphis all those years ago. For all the man's fearsome intellect, great strength, and willingness to kill to be free, he had never once managed to escape from the asylum, or even come close. The reason was simple, he had told her. The asylum was specifically built to keep people inside it who did not want to be there. The courthouse he had escaped from was not. 

Neither was a doctor's office.

Once the nurse had left, Erin Lander got to work. She removed her suit jacket and her white silk blouse and hung it over the back of the exam chair. It took her a moment to step out of the skirt. Underneath that, she wore the pink nurse's scrubs that Starling had brought her to wear when she had first arrived. The legs of the scrub pants were rolled up and taped, so that they did not show under her skirt. 

Around her abdomen, she had wrapped the white sheet and pillowcase from her bed. She unwrapped them now. The sneakers that Clarice had supplied her with were hidden against her sides. The suit and her good shoes went into the pillowcase. She donned the sneakers hurriedly and glanced over at the window. 

The window in the exam room opened with a crank. It took only a moment to get the window as far open as it would go. It would be tight, and a larger person wouldn't have been able to fit through. But Erin could. The exam room she was in was on the second floor of the building. The medical office building was across the street from the hospital proper. Erin Lander knew what to do now. 

She tied the corner of the bedsheet to the window crank and worked her way through the narrow opening. In order to free her hands to hold onto the sheet, she held the pillowcase in her teeth. She would need it. Tasting cotton in her mouth, her fingers cramping, her body bumping against the rough brick of the outside wall, Erin Lander lowered herself down the side of the building to freedom. Finally, she reached the end of the bedsheet and dropped the last six inches to the ground. The shock of contact with the ground raced up her calves. She let out a grunt and planted her hands against the wall to steady herself. Everything seemed okay. She placed her hands on her stomach and rubbed a bit to soothe her infant. 

"Mommy's sorry, honey," she whispered, and then set off towards the hospital. A few people driving by gawped and stared at the bedsheet flapping from the window like a bizarre white pennant. _Good, _Erin Lander thought. Only those who had seen her shinny down it would connect it to her; everyone else would stare at the sheet and ignore the woman who had climbed down it. She crossed the street and headed up to the hospital's ER. 

It was just like the hospitals she practiced in. Noisy and busy. So long as she looked like she knew what she was doing she would have no problems. Carefully, Dr. Erin Lander studied the white board on which patients were listed. She memorized a few names and took a moment to note who was going into what treatment room. _Dr. Silverman, to see that patient…Dr. Holburg to see that one…okay. _

Dr. Lander heard the familiar _woop-woop _of an ambulance siren and remembered her residency. She turned around and waited. Sure enough,an ambulance crew came running in with a gurney. MVA, multiple contusions to the chest. She bet he'd be in surgery before long. Internal bleed city. 

Dr. Erin Lander walked down to the drug lockup and glanced in through the wire mesh at the pharmacist. He was rather pudgy and looked at her puzzledly. 

"Help you?" he asked. 

"Yep," she said. "I need 20 cc's Haldol. Got an unruly patient." 

The pharmacist eyed her. "I haven't seen you before," he said. 

Erin smiled patiently. "I'm new here," she explained. "First day." 

"Welcome aboard," the pharmacist said. "Who ordered the Haldol?" 

It took Erin rather more acting ability than she thought to not glare at him and say _I did. _She'd had to put the fear of God into a few pharmacists during her residency. Instead, she smiled prettily again and said, "Dr. Holburg." 

"Okey dokey," the pharmacist said, and gave her the vial. "Bring it back here when you're done." 

Erin promised dutifully to do so and headed off. She slipped into a treatment room. A young teenager lay on the bed and looked nervous. He held a large pressure bandage to his arm. It was pretty bloody, she noted. Might need stitches. 

"Hi," she said and smiled automatically. Boy, good thing she'd never become a nurse. As a doctor she had the right to scowl whenever she damn well pleased. "The doctor will be with you in just a minute. Let me see that." 

Just for appearances' sake, she had a look at the wound. Pretty ugly, a long slash down his arm. Erin wondered if it was a suicide bid. Probably just clumsiness; it looked superficial. After changing the kid's dressing to a new one he could get all bloody, she swiped two disposable syringes from the drawer and left back into the maelstrom of the ER. 

She glanced over at the desk and saw a doctor's lab coat lying on a chair, complete with ID clipped to the pocket. For a moment she wondered about how to get it. Should she just walk up brazenly and get it, or try and sneak up on it? It would be better if she grabbed it as if she had every right to it. She could always claim that the doctor who owned it had asked her to grab it for him. As it turned out, the receptionist at the chair next to it didn't even notice. Dr. Lander took the coat and strolled further into the hospital. 

Down the hall she saw what she was looking for. A small room labeled STOREROOM on the sign next to the door. Dr. Lander entered it and grabbed a set of blue surgical scrubs and a pair of latex gloves. Once she had swapped out her pink scrubs for the blue ones, she found herself feeling much better. A doctor again. The pink scrubs went into the hamper nearby. The lab coat was big on her, and she had to turn up the sleeves. She inverted the ID card so that it wouldn't be obvious. She'd have to try and pick up a pager from somewhere, but this would do for now. She stripped the syringes out of their plastic covers and drew them up, putting them in the pocket of her lab coat. The vial of Haldol went into the other pocket.

Erin Lander differed from her husband in one large respect. Hannibal Lecter was capable of great depravity and violence, when it amused him to do so. Erin Lander had seen every day the results of violence, and she abhorred it. But being non-violent didn't mean she had to go completely unarmed. 

…

William Petrie stood self-importantly and proud at the door to the exam room Erin Lander was in. He watched as the doctor came closer. 

"Go on in, doctor," he said, very pleased with himself. The doctor opened the door and walked in. Petrie could hear him through the door. 

"OK, now…Dr. Lander, I bel—what the hell?" 

The doctor dodged back out and looked at Petrie in puzzlement. 

"You've got the wrong room there, fella," he told Petrie. 

"No, I don't," Petrie said. "She went in there. I saw her myself." 

"No one's in there," the doctor informed him. Agent William Petrie felt his stomach do a long flip-flop. Oh no. Not this. Not after Agent Starling had trusted the safe transportation of the prisoner to him. No. Please? 

He stepped around the door, and took in the open window allowing the summer breeze into the room. He saw the bedsheet tied carefully to the window crank. His mouth felt dry. Oh God. Agent Starling was going to kill him. 

Then he saw the hospital across the street, and he knew where she would go. 

"Excuse me," Petrie said in as official a tone as he could manage. The doctor looked at him bizarrely. It sounded like a small boy trying to force his voice artificially deep so that he sounded like an adult. "This is official FBI business. This room is now sealed. Excuse me, please, while I re-apprehend the criminal." 

Then he turned and ran at top speed, down the hall, out the door, and across the street. The doctor watched him go, slightly bemused. 

"Wow," the doctor said. "That guy needs some Ritalin." 

But William Petrie soldiered bravely on to protect the public and capture the escaping criminal. A car honked at him and almost hit him, but this was official FBI business! A mere driver must yield. He ran into the hospital and headed for the ER. 

He'd thought it would be easy to pick out Dr. Lander in the ER. It wasn't. The ER was crowded and people walked all over the place. It blocked his view. 

"FBI! Move it," he said, and tried to push his way through the crowd. People simply looked at him. He ran up to the desk and flashed his FBI credentials at the receptionist. 

"Agent Petrie, FBI," he said. "There is an escaped criminal here in this hospital." 

The receptionist looked at him blankly. "OK, Officer…what did you want me to do?" 

"Lock off all the windows and doors," Petrie ordered. 

The receptionist sighed. "You must be joking," she replied. "This is an ER, we can't lock all the doors. We need to let patients in and out." 

For a moment William Petrie thought of calling the police and getting reinforcements. But no, then they would know he had messed up. He didn't want them to know. Better that he, personally, find the doctor and bring her to justice. 

He ran down the hall again, and there he saw her in the elevator. She saw him too. Petrie fumbled for his gun before realizing it was too late. The doors were closing. 

He turned around and ran up the stairs nearby, hoping he would catch her before it was too late. He made it around the landing and onto the stairs. Catch the bad guy! The bad guys didn't win. He knew this to be true. But the elevator door wasn't opening. Wrong floor. Rats. 

So Petrie soldiered bravely on. Up to the surgical floor, where he caught sight of a short doctor disappearing down a quiet hallway. There she was! He ran down the hall, wondering if he should reach for his weapon. You weren't supposed to shoot in a hospital. This William Petrie thought to be true. 

He turned where the hallway did. There was no one in the hall. He frowned. Where had she gone? Was it her at all? He _had _to recapture her. He knew what would happen if she got away. 

Then suddenly, there was a scrape of a sneaker sole behind him, and a firm grip on the back of his head, and a sting at his neck. William Petrie tried to turn. He fumbled for his pistol, only to feel hands not as fumbling as his own pluck it from his holster. There, behind him, was Dr. Erin Lander, fitting in perfectly well in her stolen lab coat and scrubs. Had Clarice Starling gone with him, she might have been able to tell him that Dr. Lander would most likely head to Surgery. After all, she could pretend to be an ER nurse, but eventually she would make a mistake. She _was _a surgeon. 

William Petrie collapsed faceup on the floor. Erin Lander grinned down at him. That trick had once worked on Clarice Starling, and from what Erin could see she was worth a barrel of Petries. Plus, she had a few more syringes of Haldol. Petrie wouldn't die, he wouldn't suffer. Nothing violent. But he would sleep long enough for her to get away. Plus, getting him neatly answered the question of how she was going to get out of here. 

Erin Lander borrowed a gurney from where it had been nonchalantly parked against the wall and put the unconscious man on it. She wheeled him down to an empty room, where she removed his clothing and dressed him in a patient gown. She took his cuffs and locked one wrist to the gurney. She took the gun even though she didn't want it. Guns were bad. Well, she could dump it somewhere else. 

She felt some guilt over going through his wallet. Borrowing scrubs she could rationalize; like most doctors, Erin Lander was an unrepentant scrub thief. Even borrowing some drugs she could deal with. She could pay for them later. And she needed them. But rifling William Petrie's wallet made her feel cheap and dirty, a nasty little thief. 

That didn't mean it didn't have to be done. She didn't want him to have any ID when he woke up, and she would need the cash in his wallet more than he would. Sixty dollars cash and his debit card. She didn't want the debit card. She'd pay him back once this was over, though. 

The big thing she wanted was right there. The car keys. Erin didn't know for sure, but they could probably track the car through the FBI somehow. That was OK. She knew better than to use the car for the long term anyway. Just enough to get her away from here.

Erin Lander put Petrie's clothing into a bag labeled PATIENT BELONGINGS. The gun was heavy and strained at the plastic. She didn't like guns and wanted to get rid of it, but she didn't want him to have it. Well, she'd leave it in the trunk. 

She left Petrie in the empty room. So far, things had worked out well. She found herself feeling excited, almost like a kid again. She'd done it. Would he be proud of her? She thought so. Plus, she was free now. Starling would not get her again. 

Thinking about that made her feel all the shock and betrayal of a few nights before, when DeGould had visited her cell and told her Starling planned to stab her in the back. At the time, it had seemed hard to believe. And truth be told, she couldn't believe DeGould's offer of assistance. Starling had offered her the same thing. No, it had to come to this. And now she would be free, free to seek him out again. Her life, back the way she wanted it. A dizzying and powerful thought. _Him. _She would get to see him again. 

Erin Lander stopped in the bathroom and changed back into her suit. She headed out of the hospital and back across the street. The big Crown Victoria waited in the parking lot of the medical office building. It was difficult to get the big bench seat adjusted and she had to stretch out her feet to reach the pedals. She started the car and drove off. 

An electronic tone warbled from one of the patient-belonging bags on the passenger seat beside her. Erin reached into it and pulled out Agent Petrie's cell phone. It trilled persistently in her hand. 

On the LCD display read STARLING CLARICE M. She glanced around and saw the highway was not far off. She knew where she wanted to go. Why not? 

She pressed TALK and held the phone to her ear. 

"Hello?" she asked. 

"Dr. Lander?" Clarice seemed puzzled. "What are you doing with Agent Petrie's phone?" 

"He left it with me," Erin explained. "He had to step out for a bit. Little boy's room." She grinned at her own deception. 

Clarice seemed mollified by that. "Well, that's odd, but I'll take that up with him. Wanted to make sure everything was going okay. Petrie means well, but he can kind of be a handful."

She sounded friendly. _She must be a very good liar, _Erin thought. One could almost believe she was concerned about Erin. But now she knew it was all a lie, and that Clarice Starling intended to throw her back in jail once she was of no more use to her. 

"He's been all right," Erin said. "Not a problem at all." 

For a moment she wondered what would happen to Starling when all this came out. Then she thought of Clarice laughing at her and leaving her in prison, laughing as Erin lost her baby, her husband, and her very life. Then it seemed that just about anything Clarice might suffer as a result of this might pale by comparison. 

"I have to go," Erin said. "Doctor just came in." She held the phone away from her face and said, "I'll just be a minute," to the inside of the car. 

"Okay then. See you back at the base," Clarice answered, sounding a bit confused. 

"Sure," Erin Lander said, smiling. Oh boy, she was going to be mad. Oh well, that's what was due a liar, wasn't it? 

The big Crown Victoria headed smoothly onto the Beltway. It enraged the cars behind it because it would not go past sixty. Moreover, the big antenna waving off the back made it obvious that this was a police vehicle. So the citizens behind it, now forced to be law-abiding, simply growled and cursed at it from the safety of their windshields. Then it took the airport exit, smoothly pulling onto the off-ramp, and stopped in long-term parking. The window rolled down and a small, smooth hand emerged to take a ticket. Then it headed into long-term parking and disappeared. 


	11. Backstab

                _Author's note: If LadyOfTruth's DeGould Must Suffer Immense Torture Club doesn't have enough members, this ought to help their membership drive…__J_

                A CD of the _Goldberg Variations _was playing in Dr. Lecter's suite.  He rather liked the atmosphere of his hidey-hole.  Room service at his whim, richly carpeted floors, a comfortable bed.  A view of Washington, DC he was quite fond of.  He was reading today's copy of the _Washington Post.  _Next to him, on the side table, lay a copy of the _National Tattler.  _He was reading both papers for news of one event.  On the side of the _Post's _front page was an article entitled _Protected Witness Escapes FBI Custody.  _It was subtitled _Was Assisting FBI in Capture of HerHusband.  _

The _Tattler _was much more shrill and dramatic, as the tabloids were wont to be.  _Bride of Frankenstein escapes FBI gumshoes to rejoin her hellish husband! Terror in her wake!  _That Dr. Lecter found to be doubtful.  Erin despised violence.  And the article itself admitted reluctantly that Agent Petrie had been sedated, not slain.  And hellish?  Now that was just over the top, Dr. Lecter thought.  

                But both articles told him the same thing.  His wife had escaped.  Dr. Lecter was unreasonably pleased that she had duplicated his methods of ten years ago: leaving the car at the airport.  Dr. Lecter wondered if Clarice thought that Erin had fled via the airport.  He believed she would know better.  

                But tracking his wife would be much different than tracking him.  Dr. Lecter preferred the finest things in life and did not want to do without them.  Dr. Lander had grown accustomed to getting by on much less.  He liked his five-star suite.  Erin would be perfectly happy with an Econo Lodge or a Holiday Inn.  If Clarice meant to track her by skimming along the best of everything, she would be sadly mistaken.  

                Might Clarice know that?  He thought it possible.  To track Erin Lander, Clarice would need to adjust.  Rather more like trying to track herself down than tracking him down, he thought.  

                Of course, he allowed, it was more likely Clarice would have other problems.  In Berlin, he had considered the authorities seeking to apprehend him as jackals.  Clarice was likely to find out what jackals they could be.  They might satisfy themselves with the boy-man whose small picture appeared in the _Tattler _article, but Dr. Lecter thought they might demand more blood.  

                This changed his plans.  Erin no longer needed him to free her.  Instead, he would have to find a way to get in contact with her.  For a moment he wondered what to do with Gregory.  A source in the investigation would be useful, he knew.  He would continue to use Gregory for as long as he needed.  He wondered how long it would take to get away, and what might happen.  

                The _Tattler _article had a picture of Clarice, advising its readers that she had 'spirited Dr. Lecter's wife away to an unknown location' and luridly wondered what tortures and torments Agent Starling had subjected her to in order to drive her to escape.  That got a chortle from the good doctor.  Clarice Starling could be hard, but torturing a captive?  Even the most cursory grasp of her personality would indicate the utter foolishness of that.   To an extent, it was a pity, Dr. Lecter thought.  He had learned a great deal about forcibly extracting information from those who might not want to share with him.  But Clarice would be no more interested in that than Erin had been.  

                Dr. Lecter resolved to get a copy of the _International Herald-Tribune.  _Just as he had once given Clarice a code to contact him, he had given one to his wife.  That was far from the only plans he had ever made in case either he or his wife were captured.  He wondered how much Erin might recall.  Would she be panicked and try to hide, or run?  Or would she remember what he had told her?  Dr. Lecter had a vacation home in another name not far from here; hidden in the walls were money and papers.   Just as before, but well hidden. 

                He would stay hidden for a while, he decided.  Just a few days, to see if Erin would try to contact him.  He believed she would.  He did have to wonder where she would go, though.  It made only perfect sense for her to flee Washington.  The heat would be hottest here.  Where would she flee to?  Columbus, perhaps.  She knew Columbus.  

                Dr. Lecter wanted very badly to get his wife back.  She was pregnant with his child, after all, and he cared deeply for her. But rushing out to try and find her would be foolish.  No, the best thing to do would be to see if she would contact him from afar, and then arrange a meeting calmly.  Preferably somewhere where he knew they would both be able to escape.  

…

Clarice Starling sat in her office.  A roiling churning morass had its way with her stomach.  It had been two days since Erin Lander had escaped from custody.  Two days of constant phone calls, meetings, and the associated administrative tortures that were due FBI agent who had failed in their duty.  

                William Petrie had been discovered in a hospital gown, sleeping away the dose of Haldol Dr. Lander had administered to him.  He had been put on administrative leave shortly after waking up.  That made Clarice feel bad; the guy was a spaz, but he hadn't deserved to be kicked out like that.  The car had been found at the airport, in long term parking.  Petrie's clothes and gun were right there on the passenger seat.  Dr. Lander's fingerprints were all over the car; the wheel, Petrie's phone, the parking ticket.  Dr. Lander herself had disappeared. 

                There was a meeting scheduled that afternoon to 'discuss the lapses of security that led to the escape of Dr. Lander', as Sneed had told her in his phone call.  She didn't like Sneed.  He was a weaselly little guy, a man who had jumped position from spin doctor over at BATF to Krendler's old position at Justice.  Clarice knew what it really was.  They were looking for someone to blame.  And somehow, Clarice Starling had a feeling they meant to tie those cans to her tail.  

                Clarice couldn't help but feel betrayed by the surgeon.  She'd done everything in her power to make Erin's time at Quantico comfortable.  She'd made sure Erin got legal immunity for the identity crimes she'd committed.  She'd ensured Erin got the best medical care Starling could provide her.  She'd even ordered that Erin get her afternoons out of her cell and taken her into the city.  And this was her payback?  The very first protected witness ever to escape custody?  

                So she sat in her office and watched the clock tick. Finally, it was time.  She rose and headed for the elevator to the meeting room that was there.  It was already filling up, and Clarice selected a seat on one side of the table.  She looked around.  Pearsall, still her boss of record.  That weasel Sneed.  A few other FBI bigwigs she vaguely remembered the names of.  Clarice sat calmly, not speaking to anyone.  This wasn't going to be fun.  

                Finally, Sneed cleared his throat.  

                "Well, welcome everyone," he said.  "Thank you all for coming.  As you all know, this meeting is in regard to security lapses and…other causes in regard to the recent escape from federal custody of Dr. Erin Lander, known to be Hannibal Lecter's wife.  This is the first time a protected witness has ever escaped FBI custody." 

                Clarice sighed.  Here came the pain. 

                "To start things off, Erin Lander was in the custody of Agent Clarice Starling, pursuant to an agreement for testimony.  She was to be provided with legal immunity as well as appropriate medical care for her conditions."  He rattled a piece of paper.  "Specifically, Erin Lander was a kidney transplant patient.  She is also pregnant."  He looked down sternly at Clarice.  "Perhaps you could tell us a bit more about what happened in the escape of Erin Lander, Agent Starling?" 

                Clarice sighed.  She tried to make her voice as neutral and professional as she could.  "Dr. Lander was entitled to medical care, as per the agreement.  I assigned Agent William Petrie to take her to her doctor's appointment.  Unbeknownst to me, Dr. Lander had taken her bedsheet and pillowcase off her bed and hidden them on her person.  She climbed out the window, ran across the street to the hospital, and obtained a sedative of some sort.  Agent Petrie waited outside her door, as I had instructed him to do.  When he discovered her absence from the exam room, he ran across the street to the hospital in an attempt to re-apprehend her.  She injected him with sedatives, took his clothing, gun, and all his personal effects.  She left him in a hospital room asleep, and took his car.  His clothing and effects were found in the car, which was in long term parking at the airport.  No airport security personnel reported seeing Dr. Lander and we don't think she left from there.  Attempts to locate her are…underway."  

                Sneed nodded.  "Well, yes, most of us know the basics," he said.  "What I'm looking for is _why.  _Dr. Lander had no reason to flee custody.  It just doesn't make sense.  She had everything to gain by staying here and nothing to lose.  What possible reason would she have for trying an escape?" 

                "I don't know," Clarice admitted.  "You do have to remember, Mr. Sneed.  Dr. Lander had married Dr. Lecter and was carrying his child.  The only thing I can guess is that she thought she could escape and be with him."  

                "Be with him?"  Sneed seemed amused.  "Why would she want to be with him?"  

                Clarice sighed.  _That _was plain as day to her.  Was Sneed either so naïve or so jaded he couldn't see?   

                "Probably, Mr. Sneed," she said, trying to keep the venom out of her voice, "probably because she l-," 

                A sudden lump closed up her throat.  She couldn't say it.  It was so simple a concept, really.  But for some reason Clarice could not say it without feeling tears glitter behind her eyelids.  She took a deep breath, summoned up the Brain Police, and forced herself.  

                "She loves him, Mr. Sneed," she said coolly.  "He's her husb-husband, and she loves him."  

                Sneed nodded.  "How heartwarming," he said sarcastically.  Then he turned to the others sitting at the conference room table.  "Now, if you please, I do have someone here with some relevant information as to Dr. Lander's motives for escape," he said calmly.  "If you don't mind."  

                No one at the table had any objection, so Sneed rose from his chair and walked across to the door.  He opened it and stuck his head out.  

                "C'mon in," he said calmly to the person waiting outside, and returned to his chair.  The person he had called in entered the room as well and sat down next to Sneed's chair at the head of the table.  Clarice clamped her eyes shut.  This was _not _going to be good.  Somehow, she just knew it.  

                "Gentlemen…excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," Sneed said, grinning.  "This is Agent Rebecca DeGould.  She's here to give a statement."  

                "Agent DeGould," Clarice said through gritted teeth.  

                DeGould smiled coldly at her.  "Agent Starling," she said graciously. 

                "I've brought Agent DeGould here because I believe she may be able to shed some light on the reasons for Dr. Lander's escape," Sneed said.  "I'd like to give her the floor."  

                No one objected.  It occurred to Clarice that she could clear her holster and probably take out DeGould and Sneed before anyone got a shot off at her.  But no, this wasn't the street.  It was worse.  It was the bureaucracy at work.  Clarice gritted her teeth and hoped for the best.  

                "Good afternoon," Rebecca DeGould said delicately.  "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Special Agent Rebecca DeGould.  I'm currently assigned to LECTFOR, the task force constituted to catch Dr. Hannibal Lecter, which is headed up currently by Agent Clarice Starling."  She nodded at Starling.                 

                Sneed stood up and paced a bit like a prosecutor working with a friendly witness.  

                "Agent DeGould, what could you tell us about Dr. Lander while she was in FBI custody?" he asked.  

                "Well," DeGould began, "I was on the team assigned to capture Dr. Lecter and Dr. Lander in Berlin, Germany.  I was undercover in a café that they liked.  I had an electronic ESN scanner, hidden in a plastic doll to look like a baby.  If Dr. Lecter called his wife on a cellular phone, I could try and monitor the conversation and possibly track him down.  Dr. Lander maced me in Berlin, attempting to get away.  She was captured, he was not."  

                "What about in the United States?" Sneed pressed on.  Clarice groaned internally.  She knew where this was going.  

                "In the US?  Upon Dr. Lander's return to the United States, Agent Starling was there at the airport.  At the time, Dr. Lander was in handcuffs.  They traded words, and Agent Starling grabbed Dr. Lander and shook her, almost pulling her off her feet."  

                "That's not true," Clarice said flatly.  "I just took her by the arm and--," 

                Sneed turned back to her, his eyes cold and reptilian.  "Agent Starling, please.  You'll have an opportunity to make your own statement.  For now, it's Agent DeGould's turn to speak."  

                "Once in the United States, Dr. Lander was taken to jail on a material witness warrant," DeGould continued.  "Agent Starling had told us that she planned to offer Dr. Lander immunity in return for her assistance in finding Dr. Lecter.  She made this offer to Dr. Lander alone.  No one else from the task force was permitted to go along.  That evening, Dr. Lander was brought back to Quantico and installed in the secure room that we keep for cooperating witnesses."  

                A few of the men nodded.  But still this was nothing new.  

                "Dr. Lander was held under strict terms of solitary confinement here.  She was not permitted a telephone and so far as I know not allowed to receive visitors, either family or legal.   Only Agent Starling got to see her; no one else did.  We did not get to hear the original tapes of her debriefings with Agent Starling, just redacted versions on paper.  I have a heavy psych background myself, and I expressed interest in talking with Dr. Lander on several occasions.  I believed she might feel guilty about having maced me in Berlin, plus we're reasonably close in age."  She smiled coldly.  "But Agent Starling repeatedly refused my requests to meet with Dr. Lander, stating that she was handling the matter.  Agent Starling also expressed disgust when Dr. Lander asked for an attorney and didn't want to let her call one."

                "A few days before Dr. Lander's escape, Agent Starling took her off base for several hours.  None of us knew where they were headed or what she was doing.  Dr. Lander was installed back in her cell before Agent Starling came back down to Behavioral Sciences.  I don't know what she did to Dr. Lander – she kept it all from us."  

                Starling realized where DeGould was going with this.  Nothing that was a lie, nothing she could object to.  But she was clearly being cast as the villain here.  Hopefully, she'd have some chance to turn this around.  And Rebecca Snotnose DeGould was being kicked off the task force the minute Clarice got back to her office.  She could find some other post in the FBI.  Jump-out squad, maybe, the girl could learn a lot from being shot at and combing glass splinters out of her hair.  She could be patient.  

                Then DeGould dropped the bomb.  

                 "After the disappearance off-base of Dr. Lander while in Agent Starling's custody, I contacted the Department of Justice quietly," DeGould continued blandly.  "I expressed concern that a pregnant woman was being held in conditions of solitary confinement.  Her behavior didn't warrant it.  The last agent Dr. Lander displayed any violence towards was me, back in Berlin.  I also was concerned that Dr. Lander was not permitted an attorney and that the only person allowed to contact her was Agent Starling.  I noted Agent Starling's defensiveness towards allowing anyone else to have access to Dr. Lander.  From the Department of Justice I received permission to quietly speak with Dr. Lander after Agent Starling had left for the day."  

                An icy ball of rage began to seethe in Clarice Starling's stomach.  DeGould had _betrayed _her?  Snuck around with Justice behind her back?  Oh, she was being booted all right, booted as soon as Clarice got back to her desk and filled out the form.  Then DeGould continued, and Clarice's jaw dropped.  

                "I entered Dr. Lander's cell and asked her how things were going," DeGould said.  "She indicated to me that she was afraid of Agent Starling.  She stated that Agent Starling had been psychologically and physically abusive to her both in the interrogations and in her cell.  On one occasion, she told me, Starling had rolled up a telephone book and used it to strike her.  She also stated that Starling had withheld food from her until she provided information that Starling wanted.  She was quite upset and afraid of Agent Starling.  She did not understand why this was happening since she had been cooperative from the start."   DeGould sighed and shook her head.  "I felt terrible, of course.  Catching Dr. Lecter is important, but it didn't justify that.  I promised Dr. Lander my assistance and protection.  Unfortunately, before I could get a court order to place Dr. Lander somewhere safe, she escaped from custody.  But I'm not surprised."   

                Clarice Starling stood up and pointed.  Her eyes burned with hate and injustice.  Oh, she would pay for this.  

                "That…is…a…_lie_," she said coldly.  

                "Agent Starling,"  Sneed said, "please behave yourself." 

                "I _never _abused Dr. Lander," Clarice said.  "That's a lie."  

                "Starling, you'll have a chance to speak," Sneed repeated.  "If you continue, I'll have you removed from the meeting."  

                Clarice pressed her lips together and glared openly and hatefully at Rebecca DeGould.  DeGould gave her a bitchy smile back and continued.  

                "If you want to know why Dr. Lander escaped, that's simple.  She escaped because Agent Starling was being cruel and abusive to her.  Agent Starling's past with Dr. Lecter is a matter of record.  I believe she had trouble accepting that Dr. Lecter had actually taken up with another woman."  She crossed her legs and smiled archly, the death blow delivered.   "That's all I have to say, gentlemen.  Thank you for your time."  

                An uneasy silence reigned in the room for a few moments.  Then Clarice Starling interjected with a sentence of her own.  Her eyes were rimmed red with fury.  She was projecting exactly the type of anger and fury that DeGould wanted her to.  She knew this, but she couldn't help it.  

                "May I speak now?" she said, each word bitten off with bitter anger.  

                "Of course, Agent Starling," Sneed said.  

                "A _grain _of what Agent DeGould has said today is true," Clarice said.  "I did keep Erin Lander secluded from others.  She never _asked _for visitors.  Unlike Agent DeGould, I know Dr. Lander's file relatively well.  She's an orphan.  The only family she has is her husband, and obviously we're not going to let _him _visit.  Had she _asked, _I would have been more than happy to allow her a visitor, within reason.  She never did."  

                "How_ever,_" Clarice continued, "the accusation that Agent DeGould has presented against me is a lie.  Pure and simple.  I can't tell you how angry it makes me to hear that.  I have arrested plenty of people, most of them ruder and more abusive than Dr. Lander was.  We were polite to each other, and I respected her needs to a _fault.  _I certainly never…_never…._abused her physically or withheld food from her.  Frankly, I find that accusation offensive.  I think, actually, that Agent DeGould is trying to engage in some political plays here for my job.  Why, I don't know.  But to accuse me of torturing Dr. Lander…that's bullshit.  Pure bullshit."  She could feel herself shaking with rage.  

                Sneed gave her a few moments to hang, and then he struck.  

                "Agent Starling, you say you never used physical force against Dr. Lander?"  

                "Yes.  Or psychological.  I laid it on the line in jail; it was cooperate with us or lose her life, her baby, everything.  But once she was here I treated her perfectly respectfully."   

                "So," he continued.  "Knowing that this can be checked, Agent Starling.  Knowing that three other agents other than Agent DeGould…presumably agents who are not in the mass conspiracy to get you….I'd like you to answer a question truthfully." 

                "Sure, Mr. Sneed," Clarice said, barely cutting enough venom out of her voice to make it not a snap.  

                "Did you employ physical force against Dr. Lander in the airport when she returned to the United States, after she had deplaned?" 

                Clarice sighed.  How clever.  DeGould had seen it, but so had the others.  Hang her up on the one thing she had done, and they would believe she had done the rest.  

                "I took Dr. Lander's arm," she said.  

                "You just took her arm?  Are you sure?  Didn't you grab her and yank her forward?"  Sneed grinned like a jackal about to strike.  

                "I took her arm and pulled her a step forward, yes," Clarice admitted.  "She was being disrespectful."

                "Was she resisting physically, or just verbally?" 

                "Verbally.  Agent DeGould is making a mountain out of a molehill."     

                "And she was handcuffed at the time." 

                "Handcuffed and in a restraint belt, yes." Clarice said tightly.  "I would like to point out that Dr. Lander did not suffer any injury or fall.  If she had, I would have caught her.   She was given a physical examination at her admission to jail and that revealed nothing.  No injury, no nothing.  She never said boo to them about it.   If that's not good enough for you, she was examined by the medical staff at Georgetown and _they _found nothing wrong with her, and she didn't say anything about it to _them _either.  I lost my temper for a moment, but she wasn't harmed or even hurt."  

                Sneed nodded and drew himself back.  It reminded Clarice of a striking snake.  

                "Now you've arrested people, before, haven't you, Agent Starling?"  

                "Of course I have," Starling said coldly.  "More than you and Agent DeGould put together and doubled, actually."  

                Sneed grinned.  Suddenly, Clarice knew she was in deep shit.  

                "And so you're acquainted with the rules for how FBI personnel are expected to behave towards prisoners who are in restraints."  

                "Yes, I am," Clarice said.  A sinking feeling invaded her stomach.  She knew where he was going.  

                "Agent Starling, do FBI rules of procedure permit an agent to employ physical force against a prisoner in their custody who is in restraints, being verbally disrespectful, but _not _resisting physically?"  

                Clarice sighed.  _Goddam the two of you.  What the hell do you want out of me, anyway?   _

"Agent Starling?" 

                "No," Clarice snapped.  "I know the goddam rule, Mr. Sneed.  Verbal disrespect does not justify the use of physical force on an otherwise compliant arrestee.  I know what the rules say."  

                Sneed simply raised his palms upwards as if to say _Apparently not.  _

One of the deputy directors cleared his throat.  

                "I think we've heard enough to know where to go from here," he said.   "There's enough to investigate this further.  Agent Starling, we'll be placing you on administrative leave for the time being until this matter is resolved."  

                Clarice stood up.  "Sir, please.  Wait. The task force is doing some _very _important things.  We came very close to catching Dr. Lecter.  We'll get him.  A change of command at this time would be extremely problematic.  If I need to be punished for hauling around Dr. Lander, I'll gladly submit to two weeks loss of pay.  I'd be working for free.  Just let me continue what I've begun."  

                The deputy director eyed her coldly.   She was already guilty in his eyes.  She could tell.  _Goddam you, DeGould.  _

"These are some very serious charges, Agent Starling," he said.  "Now you know, the admin leave is not itself punitive.  If you're found to be innocent, you're entitled to full reinstatement without prejudice."  

                "Sir, _please, _hear me out.  You're convicting me on the word of one agent.  One who has been oppositional and insubordinate from the word go."  

                "You've never filed anything against Agent DeGould," Sneed pointed out.  

                "No, I haven't.  Look, sir, I have worked _so _hard for this.  I am innocent of these charges.  I never, never did anything to her."  

                "So why did she escape?"  the deputy director sighed.  "Agent Starling, you're on administrative leave.  Turn over all of your equipment to Agent Pearsall, he's still your boss of record.  Your access to all but public facilities is revoked.  A marshal will escort you from the building.  We'll have your things from your office sent to you." 

                "What about the task force?" Clarice asked, a final, flailing struggle against what she realized was happening.  

                "It'll be taken care of," he said.  She knew immediately what he would say before he said it.  Somehow, she just knew it.  A match made in hell.  

                "The most qualified agent to take over the task force," he said, "is Agent Rebecca DeGould."  

                Clarice Starling's stomach churned with hate and rage as she handed over her pistol, ID, and cell phone to Pearsall.  She glared at DeGould openly as she did so.  DeGould simply smirked back.  Clarice wanted nothing more than to pump several bullets into the little bitch's smirking visage.  What was this?  She remembered Sneed from four years ago, when he'd been part of BATF.  He'd been buddies with Krendler.  

                A marshal, specially summoned to take Clarice to the front door, did so.  She went with him quietly.  Already, Clarice was trying to tamp down her rage to plan her next move. Dr. Lander.  Had to find Dr. Lander.  Was she in on this?  Maybe, but somehow Clarice didn't think so.  DeGould had gotten to her all right.  What did she say to her?  Clarice would find out.  Even as she was taken back to her car and threw herself behind the wheel, the back of her neck steaming with rage, she determined she would find out. 

                After Clarice was escorted from the building, DeGould and Sneed headed back down to Behavioral Sciences to inform the troops of  their new commander.  DeGould entered Clarice's office – _her _office, now, and sat down in the chair with obvious satisfaction.  

                "There you go," she said.  "You wanted Starling broken, and I delivered."  

                "And you did great," Sneed smiled.  "And hey, look.  I delivered too, Task Force Leader DeGould."  They traded a quick high-five and chuckled.  

                "That was quick thinking, accusing Starling of beating up the doc," Sneed said after a moment.  "You didn't think she was going to escape, did you?" 

                "Nope," DeGould said, looking in _her _new drawers and deciding what she would hang up once she got rid of Starling's trailer-park decorations.  "That was a surprise.  But it worked out for the best, didn't it?"

                "What are you going to do with Lander once you catch her?" he queried.  

                "Offer her a choice," DeGould said airily.  "She can cooperate with us and she'll get her deal back.  I don't care.  I'm more interested in getting Lecter…and Starling.  And Lander can help me make sure Starling is gone for good."  

                Sneed tilted his head and seemed interested.  "What were you thinking?" 

                "Well," DeGould allowed, "my word was enough to get her suspended pending investigation.  But not fired.  But Lander can help out there."  She chuckled.   "We'd be totally justified in telling her 'deal's off' when we get her.  Back to jail she goes.  But I'll offer her a big old hook, same as Clarice did.  I'll give her the immunity, the new identity, the stipend, all same as before.  Course she'll be handled more securely than Starling did – Starling did everything but play Barbies with her.  All she has to do to get it back is testify that yes, Starling slapped her around, yes, Starling yelled at her.  I'll tell her what to say, and she'll probably say it.  That way she gets her life back.  Otherwise she rots in jail.  No contest, and remember, the chick sold out her own husband.  She'll lie to nab Starling if she has to."  

                "Niiiiice," Sneed said, nodding appreciatively.   He knew the day he'd looked for a means to get Starling that DeGould was the way.

                "It's _so _perfect.  By the time Starling rolls around for an inquiry – or even criminal charges, if you can manage that – Erin Lander will be the perfect victim, with her pregnant tummy under a smock.  C'mon, a jury or a judge or a hearing officer is going to _love _that.  She'll stand there and cry and talk about how mean Starling was to her, and that'll be it. You ought to know.  Prosecutors _love _pregnant victims.  Sympathy city."  Her green eyes sparkled malevolently as she spoke.     "The next police job Starling will be able to get is security officer at K-Mart."    

                "Agent DeGould," Sneed said, "I think this could be the start of a _beautiful _friendship."  


	12. Cherchez la femme

The canvas punching bag hanging in the duplex's garage was a satisfying substitute.  _Thud.  Thud.  _Clarice's fists and feet pummeled it relentlessly.  She had come home, changed into a T-shirt and shorts, pulled down her old sparring equipment, and was busily battering away at the punching bag.  Her fury and anger served to fuel her.  She imagined Rebecca DeGould's patrician little face on the bag as she kicked it, causing it to swing and rattle on its chain.  Then Sneed, as she swung around with a backfist.  _Goddam backstabbers.  _

                It was innately, instinctually satisfying to batter the punching bag, since she was not able to wreak the havoc she wanted to on her tormentors.  What drove her to greater fury was knowing that she would not be able to actually carry out what she wanted to do.  She wanted to smash DeGould's face.  Break Sneed's elbows.  Kneecap the both of them.  That was what the savage part of her mind wanted.  But she knew herself well enough to realize that she would not able to actually carry these things out.  She was a creature of order.  She thrived on creating order.  So the blank canvas of the punching bag would have to be her substitute.  

                The hum of a car engine drew her out of beating the bag.  Ardelia was turning into the driveway.  She opened the door of the tidy Mitsubishi and gave Clarice a look of sympathetic fury.  

                "Clarice," she said.  "I heard.  What the hell happened?"  

                "Oh, not much," Clarice said, pounding the bag a few times in renewed anger.  It jostled on its chain as if protesting that it had nothing to do with Clarice's suspension.  "DeGould stabbed me in the back.  Said she'd talked to Dr. Lander and that I had apparently tortured Dr. Lander in trying to get information out of her.  Apparently, I'm a real hardass.  Took after her with a phone book, or so I hear.  Next time I talk to me, I'll have to have a little chat with myself about civil rights."  

                "That is such _bullshit," _Ardelia seethed.  "That's not going to hold up.  You'll be back on."  

                "That's how things are supposed to go, " Clarice said, and wheeled to kick the bag a few times.  The shock of contact raced up her leg and made her grin.  "Then again, if things go the way they're sposta, FBI agents don't get falsely accused of things they didn't do.  And DeGould has to know what's gonna happen if I beat this."  

                "_When _you beat this, Clarice," Ardelia said.  "I know you.  No way this will stick."  

                Clarice dropped her arms and stared Ardelia down with a hard, unforgiving look.  "Don't you think they know that?" she asked. 

                "Who?" 

                "Sneed and DeGould," Clarice snorted.  "They wouldn't have planned this unless they had something waiting in the wings.  They know damn well they better have a case by the time this goes to OPR.  Otherwise I'm back on, and reinstated without prejudice, and DeGould knows that if I get reinstated to head of the task force, the very first thing my reinstated butt is gonna do is kick her out."  

                Ardelia nodded.  

                "So she's got something.  She's got to have something.  Otherwise she wouldn't be planning on this."  

                "Clarice," Ardelia said, "c'mon inside with me for a minute, will ya?"  

                Obediently, Clarice stripped off her sparring gloves and followed Ardelia to her half of the duplex.  From her refrigerator Ardelia took two plastic bottles of Coke.  From her cabinet, she took down a bottle of Jack Daniels.  One Coke bottle went to Clarice.  Ardelia took the other for herself.  Clarice had to grin despite herself as she realized what they were doing.  Each woman took one swig of Coke from the bottle and poured in a swig of whiskey to replace it.  Clarice poured herself a healthier dollop than Ardelia did.  Hell, she needed it.  Then each put her thumb into the mouth of the bottle, turned it upside down and mixed it.  Clarice's Coke foamed menacingly high for a moment, but after a few moments gurgled back down.  

                After the Jack & Coke was downed, Ardelia gave her friend a knowing grin.  

                "You ready to talk turkey now, girlfriend?" 

                "Bout what?" Clarice asked disconsolately.  

                "Bout getting you back where you belong."  

                Clarice let out a short bark of bitter laughter.  "That's gonna be a trick," she said.  "I'm supposedly a cruel abuser of surgeons everywhere."  

                Ardelia shook her head.  "Clarice, you don't want to sit around and feel sorry for yourself," she said.  "You gotta get _movin, _girl.  You got your work cut out for you."  

                "My work?  Ha.  That's a good one," Clarice said.  "I'm not allowed to hunt Dr. Lecter anymore."  

                "You've got to let Dr. Lecter go for now," Ardelia explained. For some reason, not even the Jack Daniels quite prevented a chill from running down Clarice's spine at the sound of those words.   "You got a different doctor to hunt." 

                "Hunt?  Yeah, right, 'Delia, I got no gun, I got no badge, I got no nothing."  

                "You've got your instincts, and you've got your brain," Ardelia said quietly but firmly.  "That's all you need.  What you can't do is sit in the garage and pound on the punching bag.  Look.  I'll lay it out for you.  Lander escaped, right?  Now, you think DeGould and Sneed are sitting on her somewhere?  You think they offered her a better deal?" 

                Clarice pondered for a moment.  "It's possible, but I don't think so," she said finally.  "Doesn't make sense.  I already offered her everything I could offer her.  Immunity, medical care, being put up at Quantico instead of jail.  Besides, dammit, I did everything I could've done for her to make her comfortable.  And she ran off on me."  

                "You'd been saying that," Ardelia observed.  "That you did everything you could for her." 

                "Yup," Clarice said morosely. 

                "And she was starting to warm up to you," Ardelia continued, like the attorney she was leading a witness through cross-examination.  

                "I _thought _so.  I took her out for lunch, she told me she didn't know where he was, and wanted to know how long I was going to keep her there."  

                "What did you tell her?" 

                "That I didn't know, but we would be reasonable," Clarice admitted.  

                "How did she take that?"  

                "Okay, I guess," Clarice said, shrugging.  The whiskey made her feel a bit less angry and more numb.  It also sharpened her drawl.   "Said if she could get a medical license she'd just get to doctorin' somewhere.  She coulda, too.  I'd have leaned on whatever state medical board she wanted if she had trouble.  I didn't do her wrong, 'Delia.  Swear to God I didn't."  

                Ardelia grinned.  "I know," she said.  "Never doubted you, girl.  Question is, did she do _you _wrong?" 

                "She 'scaped," Clarice pointed out owlishly.  

                "But why? Did anyone else talk to her other than you?" 

                "DeGould said she did," Clarice said.  

                Ardelia grinned.  "What did she say?" 

                "She said I beat on her and was mean to her," Clarice sighed.  

                "Nope, nope, nope. That's what DeGould told the brass she said.  You think DeGould was lying about talking to her out of school?" 

                Even buzzed, Clarice was beginning to see where this was going.  

                "No," she said.  "She was bitching to talk to her from the word go.  Ah thank she went in there ahind mah back and talked to her." 

                Ardelia sighed.  "No more whiskey for you, girl.  I can't _stand _that ghastly dialect.  But there you go."  

                Clarice nodded.  It made sense.  "So," she began, "so you think that DeGould went in there and said something that would've ascairt her?  Somethin' so bad she'd have bolted an' run for?" 

                Ardelia nobly ignored the accent and nodded.  "Well, look.  Either Lander was in on it or she wasn't.  If she was, then there's not much you can do.  But if she _wasn't…_if DeGould played her just like she played you…well, then you're still in the game.  Find Dr. Lander, Clarice.  Find her before DeGould does."  

                "How so, 'Delia?  I'm on suspension."  

                "Being on suspension doesn't mean you can't work on finding her," Ardelia said.  "And c'mon, you got more allies than you think."  

                "You gonna help me?" 

                "However I can, girlfriend," Ardelia vowed.  "But not just me.  You gotta remember your people."  

                "They're not my people no more," Clarice grumbled.  "They're Rebecca Lying Bitch DeGould's people now."  Her accent turned the last work into a cacophony that might've come from the throat of a pained cat.  

                "Think again, my dear Clarice," Ardelia advised.  "She is their new boss.  But who constituted the task force?  You did.  Who picked those people?  You did.  Who brought them through to where they are today?  You did.  She's their boss, but you're their leader.  Now think for a moment.  There must be _someone _on that task force who trusts you. Probably a few someones."  

                Clarice pondered drunkenly.  "Hmm…yeah…there are some.  Lutz…Myers…Rico, maybe.  But hell, DeGould's gonna burn me with them."  

                "You think?  She thinks she's already got you down for the count.  She's not gonna be thinking of that."  

                Clarice rose and swayed a bit on her feet.  "Okay," she said.  "I'll make a few calls an' see what Ah kin do."  

                "Atta girl.  Maybe you ought to take a little bit of time, though," Ardelia suggested tactfully.  "See if maybe one of them will talk to you, maybe you can ride on the investigation's coattails.  It's a no-lose proposition, Clarice.  Find Dr. Lander before DeGould does.   Find Dr. Lander and make her tell you the truth."  

                Clarice grinned.  "Thanks, Delia," she said gratefully.  

                "Hey girl, you need a hand, I'm here," Ardelia said.  "You just wait until that whiskey wears off before you start calling."  

…

                The first meeting of the task force under DeGould's leadership was almost funereal.  The general mood of the agents gathered round the table was shocked and crestfallen.   Their leader had been given the boot.  The average agent did not know the exact circumstances of Clarice's humiliating exit.  But DeGould was trying to keep things moving along.  

                "Good afternoon, everyone," she said.  "First off, I want to say something to set everyone's mind at ease.  Agent Starling was not fired.  Agent Starling is on suspension pending an inquiry."  She smiled prettily at everyone, her eyes ice chips over it.  "If the inquiry shows she did nothing wrong, she's entitled to full reinstatement without prejudice, and I'll be more than happy to give her back her chair."  She took a deep breath.  She didn't want to badmouth Starling here.  Once the task force had had some time to flower under _her _leadership, once she had Dr. Hannibal Lecter's capture under her belt, then she could afford to sniff at her predecessor.  But not now.  The brass liked her, but the rank and file still thought Starling was good.  But that would all be in good time.  

                "But let's also keep in mind.  This task force still has a job to do:  catch Hannibal Lecter.   Everybody stay focused.  You were chosen for this task force because you're the best," she continued, neglecting to point out that it was Clarice Starling who had done that choosing.  "The best coming-back present we could ever give Agent Starling would be the handcuffs we put on Dr. Lecter."  She smiled.  Yeah, right.  Those cuffs would go on _her _wall.  Starling would be too busy trying to find work.  

                "So," she said.  "I know we've been focusing on South America.  I want a few agents on the U.S., too."  

                "You think he's here?" someone asked.  

                "I think it's very possible," Rebecca DeGould answered, seeming more authentic.  And that was true:  Rebecca DeGould wanted to catch Hannibal Lecter as much as any FBI agent.  His capture would be a fine notch on her belt.  She'd been reviewing the paperwork that Clarice had used to focus on South America.  It was from a conversation over lunch with Dr. Lander.  Starling had treated every word that fell from the surgeon's lips like Scripture.  DeGould wasn't so sure.  

                "Why would he come here?  The heat is hottest for him here," the same person pointed out.  

                "Because we had his _wife," _DeGould said.  She sighed. This was going to have to go carefully.  "I know that Agent Starling thought that Dr. Lander was being honest with us.  I'm not sure she was.  Also, from what I've seen of the doctor, he does not like people taking from him what he sees as rightfully his.  His wife and child qualify, wouldn't you say?  Look, in order to catch Dr. Lecter, we're going to need to respect our adversary here.  Respect his intelligence and his cunning.  Give an incredibly bright man his due."  _Starling didn't give **her **adversaries their due, and look where she is, _she thought with some satisfaction.  "He thinks he's smart enough to get into the country undetected.  He's done it before.  I think he'll do it for his pregnant wife.  So finding him is our job.  The existing parameters we were searching under are too narrow.  Five years plus or minus his birthdate.  I want that stepped up to ten, maybe fifteen.  He can look older or younger if he wants to.  Lutz, will you take care of that?  Thank you."  She continued.  "Also, I think we ought to keep our eyes on the East Coast – that's what Lecter knows, that's where he lived before, and it's also where we are.  I think it's highly likely that Dr. Lecter is either in DC or not far away.  Somewhere within driving distance.  I want all four- and five-star hotels checked out.  Dr. Lander's picture has already been telexed all over the place.   Make sure DCPD and Baltimore PD have it.  They may be together, maybe not.  I think that's of vital importance.  Garwood, Myers, I want you two working on that."  

                She stopped and held up her hand.  "One other thing I want to say," she said, and smiled.  "Anyone who has any ideas on where Dr. Lecter is, by all means, speak up.  I do not want to run this with me as commander barking out orders.  If you have an idea, say it.  My door is always open.  That's very important."  

                "What about Dr. Lander?" another agent asked.  

                "We'll find her," DeGould answered.  "But if we find her, we do one of two things.  If she's with him, then we're going to arrest her.  If she's alone, then we're going to keep her under surveillance."  Her eyes narrowed.  "What we _should _have done before, I think.  If she's alone, she'll look for him.  We'll surveill her and she'll lead us to him."  _And we'll arrest her then, _she added mentally, _and she'll testify against Starling for me, and then she'll get her life back.  _"I'd look for similar to Lecter:  big fancy hotels, four-star and five-star.  And new prescriptions for immune suppressants, if we can get them."  

"Anyone have anything to add?"  she finished perkily. 

                No one did.  Well, they were still mooning over their trailer-trash ex-boss.  They'd get over it.  And when Dr. Lecter was caught, she would make sure to share the credit with them.  That was important. After all, the right people would remember that the leader of the task force that caught Hannibal Lecter was Rebecca DeGould.  

                …

                Dr. Lecter pursed his lips and smelled the air.  The apartment was filled with an unpleasant goatish aroma.  The smell of schizophrenia.  It was unpleasant in his nostrils, no more to his liking than being in a barnyard would have been.  

                Gregory Lynch sat staring and trembling on his couch.  He hadn't shaved in a few days, Dr. Lecter noticed with some distaste.  He wore a shirt and dress pants, but no tie.  His face was sweaty.  A tic in his mouth twitched every thirty seconds or so.   

                "You…you were late, Dr. Lecter," Gregory whispered.  

                "By only two days, Gregory.  Really.  You seem to be going to pieces on me."  

                "No, no," Gregory said.  He grinned manically.  "I was _very _clever, Dr. Lecter.  I found out _all _about the dirty girls.  You'll be happy with me.  You won't hit me.  I was smart."  

                "Good, then," Dr. Lecter said calmly.  "What do you have for me today, dear Gregory?"  

                Gregory Lynch began to rock back and forth and let out a low, keening moan.  

                "They suspended Starling," he began.  "Suspended her pending an investigation."  

                Dr. Lecter tilted his head and listened.  This much he knew from the papers.  The reason had not been forthcoming.  Perhaps Gregory could provide more.  It wouldn't be too much longer until Gregory was completely lost to insanity.   

                "Why did they suspend her, Gregory?" 

                "Because," Gregory said promptly.  "Because she was a dirty girl. _Dirrrrrrrty girrrrrrrrrrl."  _

"I doubt that, Gregory," Dr. Lecter said patiently.  "The FBI does not suspend agents for uncleanliness.  If it happens, which it rarely does, the SAIC simply tells them to shower.  Now please, Gregory, I haven't time for your petty insanity."  

                "Nooooo!"  Gregory giggled and then clamped his hands against his temples as if to hold in his inner demons.  "Not insanity, doctor.  Doctorrrr Lecterrrrrrr, lots of 'r's there.  They suspended Starling because she was dirty, a real _dirrrrrrty _girl to your wifey there."  

                Dr. Lecter debated slapping Gregory and decided against it.  "My wife?  Whatever did she do?" 

                "She was _dirrrrrrty _to her," Gregory repeated.  Dr. Lecter sighed.  Was this going to be a silly mishmash of a schizophrenic's sexual fantasies?  He hoped not.  

                He was fortunate.  "She beat her up and didn't feed her, they said.  She locked her up and yelled at her and smacked her with the phone book.  That's what my source told me.  Starling was a mean guard, yes she was.  Your wife was scared of her, scared of her, scared scared scared.  Starling was a right _diirrrrrrty _girl, oh yes.  Are you gonna kill her, Dr. Lecter?  You like killing dirty people, I read all about it.  They didn't want me to know in the asylum when they locked you up, but I found out anyway.  Got the paper and hid it under my bed.  They said you killed the _ruuuuuuude, _Dr. Lecter, and Starling was a rude dude to your wifey."  He started to giggle, the sound turning high-pitched and ending in a sucking sob.  

                "I don't plan on it, Gregory," Dr. Lecter said calmly.  "I'm disinclined to believe that she did such things.  And in no case is Agent Starling a…_dude."  _From his tone of voice, speaking the slang term was much the equivalent of touching a dead rat for him.  "But Gregory my lad, you're not looking well.  I think we'll have to double up on your medication.  A few days without it and you're not a happy camper.  Now Gregory, where is my wife?" 

                "They don't _knoooooooow," _Gregory said.  "She got away clean, got away like a bandit. Hiding!  From…Starling!  Starling the…_dirty girl!_"  His eyes gleamed with manic joy.

                "Do shut up about Agent Starling, Gregory, and stick to Dr. Lander."  

                "She disappeared, poofity poof," Gregory chuckled.   A rill of unlovely drool slid down his chin and dripped on his shirt.  "The car got dropped at the airport, and that was it, no one saw anything, she's gone gone gone.  Flew the coop.  Disappeared, just like a bunny rabbit in the magician's hat, down the rabbit hole, gone off to Wonderland, abracadabra and _goodbye."  _He began to rotate at the waist, so that his head and upper body described a circle.  Over and over and over.  Yes, Dr. Lecter thought, Gregory's next reporting job would be reporting on the mattresses padding his cell wall.  He sighed.  Well, he would simply have to spend a bit of resources putting Gregory Dumpty back together again.  Once he had no further use, he could crack like an eggshell for all Dr. Lecter cared.  But Dr. Lecter wanted him sane and alive for now.  

                Dr. Lecter reached into his jacket pocket.  He extracted a plastic syringe and a vial from it.  

                "Gregory," he said calmly, "I want you to keep me informed now.  The _moment _you know something about my wife, you make sure to let me know.  Or if Agent Starling is reinstated, let me know."  He filled the syringe from the vial.  Gregory let out a squeak as Dr. Lecter pressed the plunger of the syringe.  He also handed the man two tablets.  Six more went into a childproof pill vial, which Dr. Lecter put on the shelf.  In Gregory's current state he would eat them all like candy and end up having his stomach pumped.  

                Gregory Lynch stared at the tablets in his sweaty palm and began to giggle.  It was a long, low, insane sound.  Most people hearing it would have been disconcerted.  Dr. Hannibal Lecter, who had spent eight years on a ward for the violently insane, was not disconcerted in the least.  

                "There you are, Gregory," he said.  "Now once you're feeling more yourself, I want you to take those too.  There is enough medication to keep you functional for another few days.  Until then, Gregory." 

                Dr. Lecter took his leave of the gibbering man and left him to his demons.   At the hotel he picked up a copy of the _International Herald-Tribune, _as was his wont.  He waited until he was ensconced back in his suite to read it.  There it was, in the agony column, just where he had told her to put it.  

                _A.A. Aaron – _

_                Thinking of you, where I once made you complete. I miss you.  Mary.  _

Dr. Lecter was a man without religion, and it had always somewhat puzzled him that his wife would spend her days trying to help small, mean people.  His wife was not religious herself by any stretch of the imagination.  But her dedication to her job had led him to nickname her the Surgeon Mary.  Bizarrely, she had not appreciated his wit.  He couldn't see why, the woman hadn't been in a church since she became an adult.  

                But now he knew where she was.  Good.  Dr. Lecter picked up the telephone.  He had travel arrangements to make.  Hopefully Gregory would last until they were out of the country.

                …

                The hotel room was exactly what she needed.  Reasonably pleasant, reasonably nice, and completely anonymous.  The room had a nice view of Columbus, and it was largely like she remembered it.  It had been a tiring night, and Erin Lander was glad to be back where she felt comfortable.  OSU Medical Center was not far away.  Once she had completed her preparations, she was going to go back there, to where she had learned her surgeon's trade.    

            At the airport, Erin had thought about trying to knock someone out with the remaining syringe of Haldol that she had.  But that would leave her defenseless, as well as leave a big indicator of where she was going next.  She only had sixty dollars cash to her name.  That had to last.  

                So Erin had headed down to the bus station and bought a bus ticket to Columbus.  She had been lucky and managed to catch the most direct route. It took nine hours, with a transfer in Pittsburgh.  But it had suited her pocket at the time.  She'd gotten out in Columbus at five-thirty in the morning with thirty dollars remaining in her pocket.  From there, it had simply been a matter of finding the right apartment, the one Dr. Lecter had rented a few years ago when they had first married.  The key was buried outside in a Sucrets tin in the lawn of the apartment building.  In the bedroom wall of the apartment had been identity documents and plenty of cash.  

                After that, she'd gotten a room at the Holiday Inn on the Lane.  Plenty good enough for her; she didn't need room service and wine and a suite the size of a football field.  He could be downright _spendthrift _on stuff like that.  A phone call to her former employer, OSU Medical Center, had ensured that Dr. Meyer, her old boss, still worked there.  She knew his medical license number, and it was very easy to call in a prescription in her new name for immune suppressants and whatever she might need.  That made her feel a bit guilty, and she wondered if her own license in Ohio was still valid.  But no, they would have jumped on _that _as soon as she called it in.  

                The concierge had been most helpful in pointing her towards a hair salon where she had her hair and eyebrows dyed red.  Her poor old hair, she was going to have to take it easier on it.  But after cutting and styling her hair, as well as obtaining a pair of colored contact lenses, she was satisfied that she would not draw attention to herself unless someone studied her close.  That was good.  Trying to do plastic surgery on herself was possible, but it was a pain.  

                After taking her meds, she went shopping for a few things: clothes, toiletries, and the like.  Then a quick lunch in the hotel.  After that, she'd realized that she'd been going without sleep for almost thirty-six hours.  In the late afternoon of the day following her escape, Dr. Erin Lander showered and then flopped down on her comfortable hotel bed and slept.  

                Three people were trying to hunt her down.  For Clarice Starling, Erin was her ticket to reinstatement and rightful vengeance against her tormentors.  For Rebecca DeGould and her task force, Erin was the key to keeping Clarice Starling from ever returning.  For Hannibal Lecter, she was simply rightfully his.  But now, Dr. Erin Lander slept the sleep of the peaceful, ten thousand dollars in twenties in a briefcase by her side, a new purse lying next to it, and her child growing in her womb.  Three people out there sought her, all at cross purposes.  Whichever one got to her first would deprive the others.  The only remaining question was who would get there first.   


	13. Convergence

                After taking a bit of time to sober up, Clarice Starling was ready.  She was putting a lot on the line.  As an agent on suspension, she was not supposed to be trying to do what she was doing.  But if she didn't, she'd end up a fired agent.  And besides, she had to know if Ardelia's idea was correct.  Did any of those people actually give a damn for her?  

                She found herself staring at the plain-jane Bell phone on her coffee table.  It seemed to mock her, daring her to call.  _Just you try, Clarice, _it said.  _C'mon, I dare ya.  _But something held her back.  For one thing, there would be a staff meeting, and if DeGould knew she was trying to call her agents she'd squash the agent like a bug.  She'd already learned how ruthless the other woman could be.  

                So she waited for a bit and finally picked up the phone.  The plastic was cool in her grip.  The friendly dial tone informed her that she was able to dial whomever in the world she might want to speak to.  Clarice gritted her teeth, hoped for the best, and punched in a number.  

                The phone was picked up on the second ring. That was good.    
                "Lutz," came a businesslike voice.  

                "Agent Lutz," Clarice said tightly.  "You know who this is, right?"  

                A few moments of silence intervened before the younger agent spoke again.  In those moments Clarice died a few times of nervousness and tension.  

                "Hi, Teri," Agent Lutz caroled.  "How are you? It's been a long time."  

                Clarice grinned.  "I take it a certain someone is there and you don't want it known you're talking to me," she said.   

                "Oh, well, sort of," came the reply.  "Hey, look, I'm pretty busy.  But it's been a while since we talked.  How about lunch?"  

                "Sounds great," Clarice answered.  "When and where?"  A stab of hope invaded her for the first time since she had been escorted to her car from Quantico.

                "How about noon?  That little place over on Mass Ave?  You know the one, right?" 

                "Sure do," Clarice said.  "See you then.  Hope you got some good news for me." 

                Agent Lutz's voice tightened.  "See you then.  A few others will be along, too." 

                "Including the boss?" 

                "Oh, no, just some others from the office."  

                "Thanks, Lutz," Clarice said, and meant it.  "G'bye." 

                It was eleven-thirty, and Clarice had to step on it in order to get into the city in time.  It wasn't easy, especially since she had no FBI badge to protect her from speeding tickets.  When she arrived, there they were.  Garwood, Myers, and Lutz, all eying her carefully.  Intelligently, they had chosen a table far away from the door, so that they would not be spotted by anyone passing by.  

                "You got here fast," Clarice observed.  

                "Myers drove," answered Agent Lutz.  Clarice grinned.  

                "Some things don't change," she said.  Her tone shifted and became quite serious.  

                "What all do you know about what happened to me?" she asked.  

                Agent Lutz sighed.  "Officially, not much.  Office scuttlebutt says you were really mean to Dr. Lander and that's why she escaped."  

                "I didn't do it," Clarice answered.  "You know that, right?" 

                They all nodded.  "That's why we're here," Agent Garwood said calmly.  "We know what things were like between you and her.  And no way would you have whomped anyone the way they said you did.  But we gotta be careful."  

                "I know," Clarice allowed.  "How've things been?" 

                "DeGould's being a total bitch," Lutz said.  "Some ideas…well, some ideas are good, she thinks that the search parameters are way too narrow." 

                "She _could've _said so when I was running the task force," Clarice said, more cattily than she intended.  

                "But she's driving everyone like a slave driver.  We want you back."  

                "Any news on Lecter or Lander to accomplish that?"  Clarice decided to get to the point.  

                Agent Lutz sighed.  "Well, there's something.  But, Clarice…," 

                "But what?" 

                "I can't hide this forever," She sighed.  "I mean, our job is _still _to catch Lecter.  We still have to do that."

                "I understand," Clarice said, her eyes alight.  Lutz had something.  Something good.  "I wouldn't ever ask you to sit on something that might let Dr. Lecter go free.  But maybe you can help me out."  

                "You didn't hear it from me," Lutz said. "And we can't really help you on this, not officially." 

                "Course not.  I'll find some other way I could've found out and that's what I'll say for the record."

                Agent Lutz sighed.  "_International Herald-Tribune,_" she said.  "Agony column, this morning's edition."  

                Clarice grinned savagely.  "Does DeGould know?" 

                "Not yet," Lutz said.  

                "When's the next staff meeting?" 

                "Four." 

                Clarice sighed.  "Lutz, I wouldn't ask you to hide anything for me," she began.  "But if you could..and if you can't see your way clear to do this, I'll understand…,could you sit on that until the staff meeting?"  

                Lutz sighed.  "For you, Starling, sure.  Four o'clock.  No later."  

                Clarice nodded and felt tears of gratitude rise to her eyes.  She _wasn't _out of the game yet.  She'd find Dr. Lander, get an affidavit from her, and fire DeGould's ass.  She'd win yet.  

Lunch was a quick affair, as the FBI agents had to get back to the office, and Clarice had to get on the stick about finding Dr. Lander.  A newsstand sold her a copy of the _International Herald-Tribune.  _Back at her duplex, she spread it out on the table and began looking.  There it was, in the agony column.  _A.A. Aaron –_

_Thinking of you, where I once made you complete. I miss you. Mary. _

_That was how **I **was supposed to get in touch with him, _Clarice thought sadly for a moment, and then tried to force the thought away.  Brain Police marched out to take away the offending thought.  It evaded their clutches and mutated into another.  _The letter.  _

Clarice reached over the spread-out newspaper on her desk and picked up a Xerox copy of the letter Dr. Lecter had left for her in Torremolinos.  She felt tears spring to her eyes as she read it again.  

_Dear Clarice, _

_                I'm sure you would have preferred to meet me face to face, but I'm afraid I cannot have that.  Perhaps one day when you have put away the handcuffs it may be possible.  But for now, this letter must suffice.  _

_                I offered to take you with me some years ago, and you turned me down.  'Never in a thousand years', you said.  Now it's been four years, Clarice, was it worth it?  I see you've advanced professionally:  in place of merely hunting me down yourself, you're now the chief huntsman of a task force dedicated exclusively to crafting my doom.  Come up in the world, haven't you?  _

_And now you have my wife, Clarice.  The Tattler claims that you have her for purposes of revenge.  How wrong are they, Clarice?  Do you keep her captive because you believe her to be of value to your investigation?  Or is it that you wish to punish her for making the choice that you did not make?  The choice, perhaps, that you **dared **not make?  I wouldn't be surprised if the answer is both, to some degree.  All your life you have believed in your duty.  Erin saw her duties differently. But now she is in your clutches.  Look at her, Clarice, you'll be surprised how much of yourself you may see there.  _

_Clarice, I have never ceased caring for you, but that spot I once offered you simply can no longer be offered – you said no and she said yes, and that's how it goes sometimes.  But should you need me I shall be there, so far as I am able.  _

_I'm sure that you think you've failed, here, listening to the pleasant music I have left for you and staring at the envelope with your name written across it.  Are your fellow agents there with you, Clarice? Are their eyes mocking or sympathetic?  And you have failed to capture me, if that was your intent.  But if your intent was to hurt me, Clarice, then take heart.  You're doing very well.  _

_                          Sincerely, _

_                        Hannibal Lecter, MD _

"Dammit," the suspended agent admitted to herself, "I made the wrong choice."  But she could not feel sorry for herself.  She had a job to do.  Even if she wasn't hunting Dr. Lecter, she had to find Dr. Lander.  She grabbed the telephone and called Ardelia's cousin, who was a travel agent in the city. 

"Across the Mapp Travel," a voice chirped in her ear. 

"Hi," Clarice said. "This is Clarice Starling, I'm a friend of your cousin."  

"Hi, Miss Starling," Ardelia's cousin said, "what can I do for you?"  

"I need to get to Columbus, Ohio, as soon as I can," Clarice said.  "Like now.  Can you do that for me?" 

"Let me see, Agent Starling…there's a flight at 1:30, which would land you in around 3:30, would that do?"  

"That'd do _great,_" Clarice said, and pulled out her credit card.  Ardelia wasn't around, but she decided to indulge herself anyway.  "Much oblige, now," she said, drawing the third word out as drawly as she could.  She grinned.  From her stack of John Brigham's belongings, she pulled down a cut-down .45 and John Brigham's old DEA badge.  Impersonating a federal agent was a crime, she knew that, but this was necessity.  And she wasn't going to be impersonating one for long.

She was back in the game.  

…

Dr. Hannibal Lecter was ready.  

For a normal, everyday citizen, it would have been a simple matter to get from Washington to Columbus.  It would simply have been a matter of calling a travel agent and making the necessary plane reservations.  But Dr. Lecter was anything but an ordinary man, and in order to fly he needed to make some plans and cover some contingencies.  As a wanted man, he needed to ensure he remained unapprehended.  

The disguise he had chosen was limited, but Dr. Lecter thought it would work.  His skin was tanned darker than normal by means of a tanning agent.  Clarice Starling would have barely recognized him; he was much darker than the pale revenant she had visited in the depth of the asylum.  A black toupee and beard masked his face. The purchase of the toupee and beard had amused him a great deal.  Dr. Lecter would submit to a great deal of indignity in order to fly incognito, but just as he refused to eat airline food, he refused also to wear a patch of acrylic on his chin and another atop his head.  Both the toupee and false beard were the best quality.  The toupee was real human hair.  He wasn't sure if the beard was, but he thought it might be.  The important thing for Dr. Lecter was that it looked real.  With his skin tanned quite deeply via the quick-acting tanning agent, combined with the tanning salon available at his hotel, he looked almost Indian or Arabic.  

His wife would laugh when she saw this, he decided.  As Dr. Lecter grew older, his scalp had begun to recede, as happened with many men.  She would occasionally tease him about a toupee.  That was just fine; she could tease him about it to her heart's content when they were on a plane out of the United States to somewhere they could disappear from.  

                Dr. Lecter stepped from his Jaguar and headed toward the large gates of Reagan International Airport.  The Jaguar would sit here until he needed it.  Eventually, of course, it would be found and perhaps traced to him.  The leasing company would get it back.  No matter, really.  

                In the airport he bothered no one.  It was a simple matter to get his ticket and to proceed to boarding.  He had no weapon on him, and this made him a bit nervous.  Nonetheless, it was an acceptable risk.  His identity papers were top shelf and he did not draw suspicion to himself.  He cleared security with no problems and proceeded to his gate.  

                While he was there, he bought himself a paper and amused himself reading it.  There was an article on Clarice, poor little Clarice, on the second page.  _Agent Suspended over Allegations of prisoner abuse, _it read.  The article did not tell Dr. Lecter anything he did not already know, but that was largely because he had interviewed the pitiable author before it ever went to press.  Gregory appeared to have improved; the article was legible and erudite.  

                He was more surprised to see Clarice Starling herself enter the area from which his flight was to depart.  With her was Ardelia Mapp.  Dr. Lecter raised the paper higher in order to shield his face and felt his heart begin to pound.  Perhaps he should have driven.  He felt confident that he could take down Mapp if he absolutely had to.  But even though Clarice was lost to him, the thought of attacking _her _was something he could not bear.  The thought of killing bothered Dr. Lecter not at all.  But the thought of shedding her blood, watching it drip down her abdomen, watching the light in Clarice's eyes fade – no, he could not bear the thought of that.  

                He allowed himself one indulgent peek over the top of his paper at her.  She seemed quite pleased and happy for a woman who had been suspended.  She and Ardelia were chatting like high-school girls hopped up on caffeine.  They were discussing his wife.  Clarice believed she would be somewhere near her old employer, where she would be able to get her meds and lie low.  He sighed.  He had hoped that the FBI would try to track his wife the way they tracked him: by seeking out the best and the brightest. Erin, a woman accustomed to a much lower standard of living, didn't need fancy suites or wine.  But perhaps Clarice had taken his advice.  

                They called for boarding.  This would have to go very carefully.  Dr. Lecter's seat was to the front of the plane, but not first class.  He had no frequent-flyer miles in this identity to enable him to pre-board.  Clarice rose and headed when they called for the back of the plane.  She was back in steerage, Dr. Lecter noted.  He kept his paper up, so that neither she nor Mapp would see him.  

                When they called his row, Dr. Lecter stood and kept his paper up until it came time for him to hand his ticket to the smiling automaton.  She wished him a pleasant flight.  A pleasant flight indeed, he thought.  Spending his time wondering if Clarice Starling was going to recognize him.  

                Dr. Lecter boarded the plane and allowed himself the quickest of glances down the aisleway to where Clarice Starling sat in kiddie-hell with the young families.  She spared him nary a glance.  Was she here for the same reason?  Had she, too, spotted the ad?  Were her hounds going to be pursuing him next?  

                For a moment he debated getting off the plane.  The people around him might be FBI agents.  But no, wait, they wouldn't use a suspended agent as bait.  And getting off the plane would simply cause him to drop into Mapp's lap.  He could kill Ardelia, but killing in the airport of the nation's capital would hardly be inconspicuous.  

                Dr. Lecter raised his paper back to his face once he was settled into his seat.  His seatmate, a man in a bizarre flannel suit and a toupee rather more flamboyant than Dr. Lecter's, tried to make conversation.  Dr. Lecter said a few things in a heavy Indian accent and finally the man left him be.  

                He dared not look away from his paper.  The plane leapt into the sky, carrying both the hunter and the hunted to their mutual destination.  

…

When the group of FBI agents returned from lunch, they were happy.  It was good to help their former leader.  Perhaps she would be back.  The once and future task force leader.  Lutz, Myers and Garwood talked briefly about how good it would be to have Clarice cleared and back.  They felt no guilt over what they had done.  After all, DeGould herself had sat on the Torremolinos lead for twelve hours.  If she had given it over when she found it, Hannibal Lecter would likely be in custody.  

                But none of them were terribly happy to see Task Force Leader Rebecca DeGould standing in the office the three of them shared when they returned.  She stood there calmly, eying each one in turn like a district attorney before three criminals who were patently guilty.  

                "How was lunch?" she asked brightly.  

                "Just fine," Agent Lutz said after a moment.  

                "Great," DeGould said calmly.  "I do have to ask, though."  She brandished a copy of the _International Herald-Tribune _that she had found on Agent Lutz's desk.  She flipped it open to the agony column and indicated the first ad, which was circled in red marker.  "When did you plan on bringing this to my attention?  A. A. Aaron?  That sounds like _someone _we know, doesn't it?"  

                Agent Lutz sighed and swallowed.  "Right after lunch," she said.  "I was going to tell you after lunch.  Or at the staff meeting."  

                "The staff meeting isn't until four," DeGould said.  "Did you think a lead on Dr. Lecter ought to wait four hours before coming to my attention?  I _am _the task force leader, you know."  

                "I was going to tell you," Lutz repeated, thinking _Go go go, Clarice, your lead time just got cut big time.  _

"Well, looks like there isn't going to be a staff meeting," DeGould said calmly.  "At least not here.  Please inform the others as we come in.  I've already looked in the file while you were at lunch.  We're all leaving for Columbus at two o'clock sharp.  By four o'clock, we should have Dr. Lander in custody if we're lucky.  If I'm right, we may have Dr. Lecter, too.  I'll be distributing assignments on the plane of different hotels to check.  You'll all be split up into groups of two."  

                "Get your things together, people.  We're on the move." 

…

                It was five o'clock that evening when Erin awoke, quite refreshed from her nap.  She took her meds and decided to go get something to eat.  There were plenty of restaurants near the hospital, and it would be nice to check out her old stomping grounds here, where she had first learned her surgeon's trade.  Unbeknownst to her, both planes had landed.  Clarice Starling had even bumped into a dark-skinned gentleman and mumbled apologies as she deplaned.  Hannibal Lecter had excused her courteously and tried to still his pounding heart.  And half an hour later, the task force had deplaned off a second plane and was combing the city, seeking her out.  

                But Erin Lander was content right now.  Not far from OSU Medical Center was a diner that most of the staff had favored.  She was indulging in a rare and forbidden treat:  a bacon cheeseburger, heavy with two large patties and thick tomatoes.  He would never let her have such things, and she'd been craving one since she woke up.  God, it was good, the thick, meaty patty full of grease.  She chewed with an expression like rapture on her face.  

                Then she opened her eyes and saw a figure on the sidewalk, and the meat seemed to congeal in her mouth.  _Oh God.  _She ducked low, trying to figure out how the hell to get out of here.  She put down her half-eaten burger and sidled out of the diner, leaving a twenty on the table to cover herself.  She'd tried to disguise herself. Different color hair, different color eyes, and her heels made her taller.  Would it do? It would have to.   

                The figure did not notice her leaving.  Erin crossed the street and hailed a waiting taxicab.  She told him to take her to her hotel.  

                "Ma'am," the taxi driver said, "that's just around the block.  You can walk easy."  

                "I'm pregnant," Erin snapped.  "Just drive me, okay?"  

                "Yes, ma'am," the cabbie said, and pulled out into traffic.  He circled the block as she wished.  At the hotel she gave him a ten.  The bellboy who opened the door for her got a five.  She allowed herself a glance backwards as she entered the hotel.  

                The figure was walking towards the hotel, looking deliberately at her as she entered.  It began to move more briskly as she disappeared from its view into the hotel.  

                _ShitShitSHIT.  _Erin headed for the elevator as quickly as she could.  She made it there before the figure made it to the lobby doors.  She punched the button for her floor and then the one atop hers.  Maybe it would distract them.  She hoped it would. 

                Erin got out at her floor and ran to her room.  How had they tracked her here this quickly?  It wasn't fair.  It wasn't right.  She'd done her part.  She fumbled with her room key for a second and then she was inside.  She threw the deadbolt and added the room chain.  Then a chair under the doorknob just to be sure.  

                It wasn't fair, she thought.  He would know what to do.  He always did.  She wasn't used to thinking like a fugitive.  _He _would know how to make an electrified cage out of the bedsprings or something.  For a moment the idea of grabbing the scalpel she had bought at a medical-supply store near the hospital occurred to her, but she dismissed it almost immediately.  Hannibal Lecter would kill rather than go back to prison.  Erin Lander would not.  

                _Wait.  _She reached for her purse.  In it was the syringe of Haldol she had brought with her from DC.  That had worked before.  She would act like she was surrendering and stick whoever it was with it.  They wouldn't die, but she would have the chance to escape.  

                If there were two of them…well, Erin wasn't sure what she would do.  Throw the unconscious one at the other one and run.  It worked in the movies.  She hoped it would work now.  

                A pounding came at the door.  

                "Open the door!" 

                Erin put the syringe under her watchband, where she could get to it in a hurry, and approached the door.  

                "Dr. Lander, I know you're in there.  Open the door!" 

                Erin took a deep, shuddering breath and put her hand on the doorknob.  


	14. Agreement and deals

_                Author's note:  Glad you all liked Myers driving.  Pure evil, though? Moi?  Well, we'll see what people say after this chapter….on with the show…_

Erin Lander peeked through the peephole and cringed.  There was more pounding on the door.  

                "Dr. Lander?  Open the door!  I saw you go in there.  Open the door or I'll break it down!  You're just making this harder on yourself!" 

                Hiding under the bed was out.  They would look there immediately.  Her room was on the seventh floor, and it wasn't like she had enough bedsheets to reach the ground even if the windows opened, which they didn't.  She picked up the wooden chair she had shoved under the knob.  It was light enough that she could pick it up, and she hoped it would do enough damage to let her get in close with the Haldol. 

                The door jumped and shuddered in its frame.  But it was strong.  Maybe she had more time than she thought.  No, better to do it now, look cooperative, then _bam.  _

                "Wait a minute," Erin said.  "I'm coming.  Just a minute."  

                "Open the door!" _Bang bang bang bang bang.  _Erin flinched.  

                But she had to open the door. There was no other way.  Erin sighed, took a deep breath, and unlocked the door.  

                Clarice Starling charged into the room at a full gallop as soon as it was open.  Erin raised the chair and swung.  It struck Clarice amidships  and she stumbled.  Erin raised the chair again, meaning to bring it down on Clarice's back.  But Clarice was quicker and more experienced at fighting.  She moved in closer, shaking off the first blow, and shoved the chair up so that Erin could not strike.  

                Erin let the chair go and grabbed her syringe.  She pivoted in close and brought it down.  She was aiming for Clarice's neck, the big carotid artery which would bring the drug right up to her brain.  She could see exactly where she wanted to put it.  But something was blocking her hand from going further.  Glancing over at it, she saw Clarice Starling's hand wrapped firmly around her wrist.  

                Clarice was an experienced fighter, and it was no contest.  She twisted Erin's wrist, forcing the surgeon to drop the needle.  Once she was disarmed, Clarice pulled her arm behind her and neatly turned her towards the bed.  Erin struggled and kicked, but Clarice slowly but steadily drove her captive towards the bed.  Once she had Erin on it, she got her handcuffs out and fastened them onto the smaller woman's wrists.  She stood above her on the bed, one hand on Erin's arm, the other on the back of her neck.  She stood with her feet further away than was comfortable, so that she was out of range of Erin's kicks. 

                When Erin had stopped struggling, Clarice relaxed her grip a bit.  

                "If you calm down for me, I'll let you get up," she said.  "I need to talk with you, Dr. Lander." 

                Erin twisted her head from where it was being forced into the comforter.  She said nothing, but stopped moving.  

                "There you go," Clarice said calmly.  "C'mon. I'll stand you up now."  

                She helped Erin to her feet and steered her over to a chair.  Once Erin was settled in it, Clarice was struck by the poison glare of hatred and helpless fury on the other woman's face.  

                "Goddam you," Erin Lander said hatefully.  "Why can't you leave me alone?"  

                Clarice sighed.  "Erin, look.  I need to talk with you.  I need your help." 

                "No," Erin Lander said.  "I know what this is.  You're sending me back to jail." 

                Clarice sighed.  Erin _would _have to go back to jail for the time being; she had escaped federal custody, after all.  

                "Just for a little bit, Erin.  Listen.  If you help me, I can get you out, just like before."  

                "I'm not helping _you,_" Erin spat.  "You just want his scalp on your belt, then I go back to jail.  You lied to me." 

                Clarice sighed and ran a hand through her hair.  "No, I didn't," she said.  "Now look.  Let's talk like calm people here.  I need your help and you need mine."  

                "You need my help," Erin said spitefully.  "Ha.  So you can lock up my husband and break the agreement and send me there too." 

                Clarice shook her head.  _Gotta be compassionate here, Starling, _she thought to herself.  _God only knows what DeGould filled her head with.  _

"I never meant to break your plea agreement," Clarice said.  "Who told you that?  DeGould?"  

                Erin's stony silence was all the answer she got.  It was also all the answer she needed.  

                "Erin," Clarice said, "look.  I've been suspended from duty." 

                "Good," Erin said, her voice choked with anger.

                "They accused me of beating you up and not feeding you and all sorts of things.  Now look.  You know I never did those things to you, right?  All I want is for you to tell the truth.  Just say I didn't do it.  And I'll be there for you, then.  I'll get you out of jail as soon as I can.  I'll talk to the US Attorney and get the agreement reinstated.  But you…you gotta help me.  You gotta say I didn't do it.  I can't do squats for you right now."

                "And you _won't _do squats for me once you're back," Erin said archly.  "DeGould will."  

                Hearing _that _name from Erin's lips told her exactly what she was dealing with.  Where had she messed up?  How the hell had DeGould managed to worm her way into Erin's mind in just one meeting?  How the hell had she become Snidely Whiplash here?  

                "No, no," Starling said, trying to keep her voice neutral.  What if DeGould _did _let her go? She was smart enough to realize that Erin was small fry.  "Dr. Lander, Rebecca DeGould betrayed me.  She'll betray you too.  I know she acted all friendly to you, but you gotta understand…whatever she's got planned for you, it can't be good.  Gimme a little credit here.  I was good to you.  You know that."  

                Erin simply glared at her and said nothing.  

                "I don't know what she told you, but it was a lie.  I never meant to break the agreement.  I was gonna let you go when we caught Dr. Lecter, or once you'd done everything you could to help us.  And I'll still do that, but Erin, I _can't _do that without your help."  She took the other woman's arm and met her eyes firmly.  Her eyes burned with intensity and –she hoped to God – honesty.  

                "If you're suspended, then what right do you have to arrest me?" Erin asked.

                "Citizen's arrest.  You can sue me if you want.  I've got a half a duplex mortgaged to hell and back and a ten-year-old Mustang.  Want 'em that bad? I'll warn you now, the Mustang needs a new clutch and the muffler's getting pretty beat up.  Erin, look.  I _do _want to help you, but you gotta trust me.   I can't help you until you say I didn't do anything to you.  Please, Erin, let me help you.  I helped you before.  I'll do it again."  

                There were a few moments of silence before Erin answered.  

                "If I go to jail," Erin Lander said acidly, "I'm not saying _anything for you, Starling."  _

                Clarice found herself thinking of Dr. Lecter in Memphis, all those years ago.  Offering sage culinary advice in his cell:  _Dumas tells us that the addition of a crow to bouillon in the fall, when the crow has fattened on juniper berries, greatly improves the color and flavor of stock. How do **you **like it in the soup, Clarice? _  Erin was a federal prisoner; she would _have to go back to jail.  If she refused to testify on Clarice's behalf, then they'd both be stuck.  Or, God forbid, if __DeGould made Erin an offer…well, then it would just be Clarice in the soup.   Which was why she had to think of something now.  _

                Wait a minute.  Maybe Erin didn't have to go to jail.  Heck, she'd impersonated a federal agent to fly with a gun and handcuffs.  Why not?  She could stash her in the duplex for a couple of days.  Once she got reinstated, she could—

                No, wait.  She couldn't. That would be harboring a fugitive.   They'd boot her for that alone.  No, she had to do this by the book. 

                "Look, it has to be this way," Clarice tried again.  "It's just for a few days, I swear I'll get you out the minute..the _instant I am able.  I'll go to the US Attorney, I'll get him to reinstate the deal, Erin, I'll get on my knees and __beg if I have to, but you gotta--," _

                "If you put me in jail," Erin repeated, "then no statement. Not one word.  If you're gonna hang me out to dry, Starling, then I can't stop you, but I _can make sure you hang alongside me."  _

                 "All I'm asking you for is to tell the truth," Clarice said, trying to keep from hissing.  "Then _neither of us have to hang." _

                "_You won't.  But how do I know you'll keep up your end of the bargain?  After all, Starling, the smartest thing for you to do then is walk away.  Nobody'll believe a prisoner against an FBI agent."  _

                Clarice chuckled bitterly despite herself.  "Dr. Lander," she said ruefully, "I don't always do the smart thing.  Fact is, I often don't do the smart thing."  

                "Oh, really?" 

                "Yep," Clarice said.  Then, in a softer tone, she heard herself saying words she had never permitted to march across her conscious brain, let alone speak.  "I didn't go with Dr. Lecter, for one."  

                She saw Erin's pupils darken at the sound of his name.  _That was it.  That was probably her way in.  When Clarice spoke again, her voice was soft and breathy and regretful_

"He offered.  I told him no.  You told him yes.  You were right…and I was wrong.   And now I can't ever have him back, and I have to live with that.  He's your husband.  You want to see him again, don't you?  Course you do.  I can't blame you a bit.  You want to be with him, you and him and your baby, all together.  And I'll…," Clarice took a deep breath and found her voice clogging for some reason she insisted on banning from her higher brain.  "I'll let you do that, Erin.  I'll help you do that.  But for God's sake, don't let them take this away from me.  It ain't much and it was the wrong choice, but it's what I got, and I'll get by.  But you…you gotta trust me, Erin.  I'm not gonna do whatever DeGould told you I was gonna do to you.  It'll just be a couple of days in jail, a week, tops."  

"No jail," Erin said firmly.  "You want my help, I don't go to jail."  Well, at least she was listening.  But it still didn't help.

"I can't promise you that," Clarice said softly.  "You're in federal custody.  You're gonna have to spend a little bit of time in jail.  Can't be helped, Erin.  What I _can promise you is that I won't leave you there.  I'll get you back to Quantico, and then I'll let you go."  _

"To a condo in Arizona where I'd have to spend the rest of my life without him, under a fake name," Erin said bitterly, but her spite seemed to be fading.  

Clarice shook her head.  "No," she whispered.  "I mean I'll let you have him, Erin."  

Erin Lander said nothing, but looked curiously at Clarice Starling.  

"I'll get you settled in somewhere, Erin, and I know what you'll do.  Just what you would've done if this…hadn't happened.  The marshals would come out to check on you some day and you'd just be gone, wouldn't you?" 

Slowly, unwillingly, Erin Lander nodded. 

"Well," Clarice said, "if you help me…if you just tell the _truth…I'll let you have him."  She sighed and put her head in her hands.  _

"You made the right choice…and I made the wrong one, Erin.  But don't take away from me the only thing I have left.  So I'll tell you what.  However much time you have to spend in jail…I'll give you twice that, Erin.  Twice that as a head start."  

"Head start?" Erin asked suspiciously, but she seemed interested.  

"Head start," Clarice said, and could hardly believe what she was saying.  "Once I'm back on the task force, we'll concentrate on looking for you here.  You _and him.  You spend three days in jail, I'll give you six before we start looking elsewhere.  You spend a week, I'll give you two weeks.  I told you I'd give you your life back before, Erin.  Now I'll go that one better."  She sighed, swallowed, and played her trump card.  "I'll give you the life you had back, Erin.  I'll give you your life with him.  You, your baby, and __him." _

She could see Erin was still not quite convinced.  Clarice could hardly blame her.  It was her life's work to see Hannibal Lecter incarcerated.  But there were many wolves out there other than Dr. Lecter.  And there were so very many lambs to save.  And if she couldn't have Dr. Lecter herself…if she had turned him down…she didn't want to prevent the woman who hadn't from having him.  No matter how much that tore at her.

The Brain Police sprang up expectantly, more than willing to march off the offending thoughts to the gulag of her nether mind.  

_Fuck the Brain Police, Clarice Starling thought.  __I made my bed and I'll lie in it, by God.  But I won't have the only thing I still want to do taken away from me. _

"You'd let me go?  Him too?" Erin asked suspiciously.  

Clarice nodded.  "Not forever," she said.  "I can't promise you that.  But…you'd have a head start. You..him…,"  God, it was hard to say.  Partially because of her disbelief…and partially because of her own realization that she had made a mistake.  Words she had always wanted to hear herself.  Words that would have the same meeting to another orphan.  "Your family.  All together.  The way…the way you want it to be."   

Erin Lander studied her face carefully.  Clarice could see distrust and fear on her face, but also softening and hope.  Clarice simply let her think, hoping to God it was enough.  

"All right," Erin Lander said finally.

Clarice Starling let out a great sigh of relief.  

"Ladies," a voice came from behind them.  "How are you?  Trust I wasn't too late for the coffee klatch."  

Clarice Starling turned.  Her hard-won relief suddenly ran from her mind like dirty water.  Replacing it was anger, dread…and fear.  

Rebecca DeGould entered the hotel room, her weapon out and aimed at Clarice.  Automatically, Clarice stood and turned, so that she was protectively in front of her prisoner.  

"Agent DeGould," Clarice said, her voice grating.  

"Private citizen Starling," DeGould returned, her voice as bitchily pleasant as ever.  She nodded at the handcuffed woman in the chair.  "Dr. Lander.  I'm afraid the end has come to your unauthorized field trip.  We'll be taking you to the FBI's Columbus field office.   There's a waiver of extradition for you to sign, and if you're smart, my dear doctor, you'll sign it.  But don't worry, Dr. Lander, I'm not an unreasonable woman.  And it's not you I really want, anyway."  

The muzzle of DeGould's weapon waggled at her.  "Move away from her, Starling.  Now."  

Clarice crossed around the chair so that Erin was between the two of them.  She didn't think DeGould was going to shoot Erin – or her.  Not right here.  It wasn't her speed anyway.  Or was it?  Clarice hadn't thought she was going to betray her.  

If this went wrong, Clarice was dead meat.  But she had to trust the only ally she might have.  Carefully, while she was behind Erin, she dropped two things into the other woman's manacled hands.  A leap of faith.

"_Away from her, Starling," DeGould said harshly.  "Drop the gun, too.  And the badge, too."  _

Clarice glared at DeGould and wondered for a moment what would happen if she simply fired.  A quick double-tap and that patrician face would trouble her no more.  But then she sagged.  Not with a prisoner in the middle of the firing zone.  And though killing DeGould would be immensely, immensely pleasurable, it would simply put her in a world of hurt afterwards.  

"Fine," she said heavily, and put the gun down. 

"Kick it over here," DeGould demanded.  

Hating herself, knowing full well she could pick it up and pick off DeGould, Clarice Starling kicked the gun over to her enemy.  

"Now turn around and put your hands on your head," DeGould demanded.   Clarice complied silently, knowing where this was going.  

The ratcheting of the handcuffs was quite loud in the still room.  No one spoke.  

"Clarice M. Starling," Rebecca DeGould said in a tone of rich satisfaction, "you have the right to remain silent.  If you give up this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.  You have the right to an attorney, and to have that attorney present during questioning.  If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you at no cost.  Do you understand your rights as I have read them to you?"  

"Yes," Clarice Starling grunted, her voice filled with barely contained rage.  

"Good.  You are now under arrest."  She chuckled.  "Now sit on the bed, please.  I need to call in a team to come get both of you."  Once Clarice had sat down, DeGould pulled out her cell phone.  She dialed a number and held the phone to her ear.  Her other hand kept the gun on Clarice at all times, even though she was already handcuffed.  

"Hi, Sneed," DeGould said cheerily.  "You're gonna _love this.  I've got Lander…__and Starling.  Both under arrest, already cuffed.  I'm gonna call my team."  She waited a moment, as the man on the other end of the line asked a question.  _

"I want you to tip the media," she said, as if Sneed was an idiot.  "My team can be here in ten minutes, fifteen minutes tops.  I'm gonna spot you five.  I want every TV camera I can get here."  She grinned coldly.  "We want to perp-walk these two for as many cameras as we can.  The media – best conviction you can possibly get."  She waited another few minutes.  "OK, thanks," she said lightly.  

Clarice's eyes were rimmed with anger. "What are the charges?" she demanded.  "I do have the right to know."  

DeGould shrugged and grinned.  "Kidnapping," she said lightly.  "Interfering with the custody of a federal prisoner.  Who knows?  Maybe rape, the press would _love that.  And that's just for __starters."  _

"What about Dr. Lander?" Clarice asked.  Erin turned and looked at her, surprised that she would care given the situation.  

"Going back to Quantico," DeGould said, and her eyes sparkled with malicious glee.  She turned her attention to the handcuffed surgeon.  "Oh, don't worry about a thing, Dr. Lander," she said.  "Like I said, I want to have a little chit-chat with you.  I think we may be able to help each other.  I don't know what former Agent Starling has been telling you, but I assure you, I'm a reasonable woman…and perhaps even generous to those who please me."  She chuckled.  "Now, keep in mind, Starling is suspended.  _I am the one who has legal custody of you.   But we'll talk later.  Alone." She smiled bitchily at Clarice Starling.  _

Clarice sighed.  She could see where this was coming.  And for a woman in desperate straits like Erin, there was no guarantee she would do what Clarice wanted.  DeGould could doubtlessly be very convincing.  _Why, Dr. Lander, Starling's a lost cause…don't throw away your life.  Just sign this affidavit, testify for me, and you'll be free.  Not too different from what Starling was offering her.  The only real difference was that it would be the truth.  Would that matter to Erin?  Would a woman with so much on the line – her marriage, her baby, her __life – care about the truth?  Clarice had worked the seamier parts of law enforcement, and her experience told her that most people would sell out for much, much less.  It was a depressing fact of life, but that's how prosecutors did most of their business.  Often the guy Clarice arrested one day would be testifying the next month against his former cohorts, and a couple months after that, he'd be back on the street.  _

It took perhaps fifteen minutes before other agents were brought up to the hotel room to bring both of them down.  They seemed shocked to see their current boss holding a gun on their former boss.  But they swallowed their surprise and did their job.  DeGould gave them instructions.  

"I want Clarice put in the back of my car, which is a few car-lengths up from the entrance," DeGould said.  "I want another car pulled up right near the entrance for Dr. Lander.  Don't be rough with her, but I want her in the car before they get too many pictures of her."  She didn't need to add that it was Clarice who would be the main event, paraded in shame before the cameras.  Trying not to think about it, she glanced over at Erin Lander and realized that Erin had colored her hair red and wore blue contact lenses.  _We're going to look like the fucking Bobbsey Twins gone bad, she thought.  _

Two agents scooped up Dr. Lander and began walking her down the hall to the elevator  One other pulled Clarice to her feet.  With a sinking feeling, she watched Rebecca DeGould approach her other side. Thankfully, DeGould kept her mouth shut on the ride down.  The air of victory radiating off the hateful bitch was all she needed to express her assessment of the situation.  

…

Dr. Lecter had been roaming the streets around OSU, believing that his wife would stick close to what she knew.  He noticed the first car pulled up by the hotel lobby.  Quite obviously a police car; it was a big rear-wheel-drive sedan, which was tip enough.  Secondly, it had been sitting there for some time.  The hotel staff was also distinctly hands-off towards it, neither unloading it or telling the driver to move.  

When he saw news trucks begin to arrive, he suspected this might be something worth checking out.  He swiftly hailed a taxi and asked the driver politely for the nearest electronics store.  Once there, Dr. Lecter selected a very nice and expensive 35mm camera and flash.  He explained that he was in a bit of a rush.  The transaction was swiftly completed, which Dr. Lecter appreciated.  Normally he liked to shop, to peruse things a bit more, but now he was in a rush.  

When he got back to the hotel, he was almost bowled over to see the two women in his life both marched out in handcuffs.  He saw through the hair and eye color Erin had employed to disguise herself almost immediately.  She did not look at him.  Even so, he was well disguised himself.  They had her swiftly in a car and shut in, agents standing casually by the windows in order to foil photographers.  

Then Clarice, being led along in shackles in front of the gauntlet of cameras.  Dr. Lecter raised his own and took a photograph.  Now _this was something he had never expected to see.  The woman alongside her was quite brassy and self-confident.  Dr. Lecter pinned her as the leader of this task force almost immediately.  She seemed to quite enjoy parading her captive for the cameras.  She smiled at them as she walked down to the car Dr. Lecter stood not far away from.  _

When she got closer, Dr. Lecter raised his hand.  

"Jason Michaels, CNN," he said.  "Could you tell us what this is about?  Is this related to the Lecter case?"  

The woman turned after stuffing Clarice into the back of the car and smiled a practiced, phony smile.  

"Hi," she said.  "I'm Agent Rebecca DeGould, the task force leader for LECTFOR.  As you may know, a few days ago, we had Dr. Erin Lander – a protected witness – escape from federal custody.  After allegations of abuse came to light, former Agent Clarice Starling was placed on administrative leave.  We just found both of them up there.  Dr. Lander was handcuffed in a chair with former Agent Starling looming over her with a loaded .45 in her hand.  We got there just in time, the poor thing."  

"What are you going to do with them?" Dr. Lecter asked, and took her picture in order to feed her ego.  

"Dr. Lander will be checked out at a local hospital and then returned to custody pending the US Attorney's decision on what to do next. Ms. Starling will be transported to the local jail on charges of kidnapping and interfering with the custody of a federal prisoner." 

"Any news on Dr. Lecter?"  another reporter over Dr. Lecter's shoulder asked.  How _very ironic, Dr. Lecter thought.  _

"We have several good leads on Dr. Lecter," DeGould said smoothly.  "We've cracked several of his false names and expect to have him in custody shortly.  _My name is Rebecca DeGould, that's D-E-G-O-U-L-D, and I'm the task force leader."  She smiled coldly and opened the driver's side door of the car Clarice was stashed in the back of.  "But if you'll excuse me, I have to take this criminal downtown."  _

Dr. Lecter sighed as she got in the car and left.  Now really, this was uncalled for.  He'd offered to help Clarice if she needed it, and it was safe to assume she needed him now.  Getting Erin from the hospital would be easy, and could wait a bit.  He melted into the crowd and disappeared, heading for his car.

Rebecca DeGould played a bit more for the reporters and then slipped behind the wheel of the car.  Clarice glared at her openly and hatefully, but did not speak.  DeGould's eyes met hers easily and unafraid in the rearview mirror.  Her carefully painted lips curved up in a cool, victorious smile.  

"Next stop," Rebecca DeGould said, "county jail." 


	15. In Cars

The big Crown Vic rumbled through traffic. In the back, Erin Lander flexed her handcuffed hands and felt the two objects Clarice had dropped in them before she'd been taken down. She was surprised they hadn't searched her before taking her in. Maybe they had assumed Clarice had done it. 

She thought for a few minutes as the car maneuvered towards OSU Medical Center. She didn't want to go there. It would be humiliating to be returned there, in handcuffs and failed disguise. The idea of her former mentor wondering why his once star student was returning in chains made her ill. 

And then there was the matter of Clarice versus DeGould. Clarice seemed on the level. And she had been decent to her before, Erin allowed. But she wasn't running the show now; DeGould was. What might DeGould do to her? Was Clarice right? After all, she decided, Clarice had shown good faith. Not once, but twice. The first time was back in Virginia, when she brought Erin her medication. The second time was now. 

Erin slid around on the seat and gripped the first thing Clarice had given her. The handcuff key. The agent driving her to the hospital did not appear to notice anything awry. She was a surgeon, and used to employing small devices that she couldn't always see. It was not terribly difficult to get the key into the lock and turn it. It was, however, very comforting to feel the handcuff swing open. She switched the key to her other hand and unlocked that cuff too. 

Next came a bit of dumbshow. There was only one agent with her. DeGould must have thought she would be compliant. That surprised Erin; she'd have thought she wouldn't be trusted. But perhaps DeGould wanted her to do something. That wasn't hard to figure out. She wanted Erin to lie for her and say that Starling had mistreated her. 

Erin slipped the handcuffs to the seat and studied the eyes of the agent behind the wheel for a few moments. Then she thought about how to do this and assumed an expression of despair. She stared down into her lap and manufactured a terrified moan. 

"Stop the car," she said urgently. "Please. I'm bleeding." 

"We'll be at the hospital in just a few minutes," the agent said soothingly. 

"No, _please. _I'm a doctor. Please, just take the cuffs off me and let me see. I don't want to lose my baby," Erin begged. "I'll behave." 

The agent sighed and thought about it for a moment. 

"Please," Erin pleaded. "My baby." 

The agent let out an aggravated grunt, but he did pull the car over to the side and put it in park. Then he alighted from the car and opened the rear door, reaching for his key. "Doc, you better not give me an ounce of troub--," 

He was interrupted by Erin employing the second thing Clarice had given her: her second syringe of Haldol. She knew where to put it – right into the side of the neck where the carotid lay. Express ride to the brain, and good-night agent. For perhaps fifteen seconds he tried to grab her while it took effect, but eventually his eyes closed and he thumped heavily across the backseat. Erin relieved him of his gun and phone, leaving those on the back seat. Hauling him out of the backseat was harder, but she didn't want him there when he woke up. She settled for dragging him onto the sidewalk and handcuffing him to a signpost. His ID was in his jacket pocket, and she slipped it out. A few passersby stared at her, and she displayed his ID and snapped it shut quickly before they noticed the picture. 

"FBI," she said importantly. "This is all under control." 

Then she got back in the car, back behind the wheel. The Crown Victoria was not made for a five-foot-tall woman to drive, and she tried to move the seat forward. She'd have to complain to Ford at some point. Well, after all this Hannibal damn well _better_ let her have the sensible little car she wanted. If this didn't earn it nothing would. 

But now she had to see if there was something she could do for Clarice. Clarice had said she'd free her; Clarice had proved that by giving her the key to her handcuffs and the syringe. She didn't know what she'd do. Threaten them with the gun, maybe. She tried to remember and thought that only DeGould was with Clarice. Maybe it would do. And where was he? He'd know what to do. He always did. But if she had to do this herself she would. 

Erin Lander started the engine and pulled out into traffic again. 

…

Clarice was silent as the car rode along, glaring hatefully at her tormentor in the rearview mirror. DeGould seemed amused by it, occasionally meeting her eyes while she drove. For several minutes neither woman spoke. Then Clarice broke the silence. 

"So now you win," she said. "Tell me why, at least." 

DeGould's lips curved up into a smile. "Why?" 

"Yes. Why. I picked you for my team, I tried to be a good boss. But you had me in your sights right from the word go. Why, DeGould? Why do you hate me this much?" 

DeGould shrugged. "I don't," she said simply. "But all right. Two reasons, really. The first was just plain politics. You had the task force, and I wanted it. I had to get you out of the way to get it." She took a deep breath and her eyes turned colder. 

"You always thought of me as a spoiled little girl, didn't you, Starling? Rebecca DeGould, Charles DeGould's youngest daughter, who got everything from daddy. Well, it's true that my father was well-off. But possibly the best thing he ever did give me was knowledge, Starling. Knowledge of how the world _really _is. You didn't think he became the head of one of the biggest investment houses on Wall Street by being _nice, _did you? The world's a rough place, Starling, and the sooner you realize it the better off you are. It's all well and good to be nice, but playing tough is what separates the winners from the losers." 

Clarice said nothing, but pondered that. Was that all? Power politics? It seemed so damned stupid, but it made sense. But there had to be more. DeGould had allies, she knew she did. Surprisingly, DeGould did not disappoint her. 

"I think you know that a little better than you think, Starling," DeGould continued. "You've got people who don't like you. Comes with the territory, to an extent. But in your case…well, all the golden-girl bit sorta went out the window with Krendler, didn't it?" 

Clarice leaned forward. "You don't know _shit _about what happened to Paul Krendler," she said. 

"I wasn't there, that's true," DeGould agreed. She stopped at a light and took the opportunity to turn around and look Clarice in the eye. Surprisingly, Clarice found she appreciated the gesture, as if she was at least a worthy adversary. 

"But I _have _read your testimony to the board. Basically, you sat there on your butt and did nothing. Dr. Lecter sawed open Krendler's head, ate his brain…and you didn't do a thing. So where was all the highfalutin crap about duty and respect and honor when it was Krendler's turn to die?" 

"I tried to help him," Clarice said. "You must've read that." 

"You offered to give him information if he let Krendler go. You knew he'd turn you down. You sat there and watched Lecter lobotomize him." 

Clarice let out a pained chuckle. She'd tried to bean Lecter with a paperweight, too. Had she forgotten to mention that? And why would _DeGould _care? She had been in college at the time. 

"Was Krendler a friend of yours or something?" she asked sarcastically. 

"Nope," DeGould said. "I'm just pointing it out. Think about it next time you decide to thump your chest about how great and moral you are, okay? And while we're on the subject, _I _wasn't a friend of Krendler's, but he _did_ have friends. And a few of them…shall we say…were unhappy that a sworn FBI agent sat on her ass and watched Lecter kill Krendler with no attempt at all to save him." 

"I tried," Clarice said. "I _did _try. And Krendler was a bastard anyway." 

DeGould chuckled. "See? You're not quite the lily-white 'justice-for-all' warrior you claim to be. He was a bastard, so you let Lecter kill him, isn't that the case? Well, you forgot something from every Western ever written, Starling. Bastards have brothers. And there were people who wanted to see you pay for Mr. Krendler. They wanted to see you broken, and if I delivered, I got what _I _wanted." She chuckled humorlessly and opened one hand on the wheel. "So are these little affairs settled."

"I see," Clarice said coldly. "Tell me, Rebecca, if you ever find yourself in a bad situation, you think your allies are going to stand you good? Or are they gonna backstab you the way you backstabbed me?" 

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," DeGould said calmly. 

"What about Dr. Lander?" Clarice said. "Where does she figure into your plan?" 

"Dr. Lander? She'll go back to Quantico, although not quite how she thinks. There's an isolation cell in the Marine brig waiting for her. She'll be taken care of, of course. But that much I learned from you, I must admit. I want her to have a taste of what prison is like. So she'll know what she's in for if she doesn't cooperate. Part of…the dance we do, isn't that how you put it? She's a smart woman, though. Two weeks or so of solitary confinement in that little cell and she'll be very reasonable. And I'll let her go back to the secure room once she agrees to cooperate. I'm not inhuman, after all." 

Clarice had wondered if giving Erin the key and her needle had been the right thing to do. Maybe this could be straightened out. Maybe not. Hearing DeGould's plan was a relief of sorts. She felt zero guilt in giving the surgeon what she needed to free herself. Too bad it wasn't going to extend to her, though. But Clarice was strong enough to hack a little time in jail. Hell, she'd asked Erin to spend a couple days in jail for her. She could do it herself. And if Erin freed herself, then DeGould's plan would end up foundering. So for now she'd let the hateful little woman think she'd won. 

She found herself wondering what would happen if Erin _didn't _free herself, and then tried to put it out of her mind. The chick had run on her, she'd run on DeGould. Hopefully. Please God. 

"Well, then," Clarice said. "And I suppose I go to jail." 

"For now," DeGould said. "I'm afraid the people I'm working with have no interest in leniency for you." 

"You mean the people you're working _for," _Clarice said with unexpected vehemence. "You're just the hired help on this one, aren't you?" 

"A consultant, one might say," DeGould said. "And it hardly matters to you, Starling. I'd be more interested in getting an attorney and seeing about arranging a plea bargain if I were you. Kidnapping a suspect you were accused of abusing…looks pretty bad for you right now." 

…

Dr. Hannibal Lecter felt torn as he eased the big van into traffic. The van was not his normal choice of transportation, and he liked the Jaguar he'd left at the airport much, much better. But the van had real advantages. It provided mobility and privacy. For this reason, vans were often favored by serial killers. Dr. Lecter did not plan on practicing his hobbies, but privacy would be a very, very good thing. 

He eased down the street, looking for the large blue cars that marked his prey. It had only been a few minutes; enough for him to get to his rented van. But there were any number of side streets they could have turned down. His wife had lived in this city; she knew it better. Where would they be taking Clarice? Where was the jail? It took him a moment or two to recover the information from his memory palace. 

He drove on for a few minutes. Only part of his attention was focused on piloting the vehicle. The remainder was on how he would free Clarice and then get his wife. Would Clarice try to bring him to justice? To restore herself on his hide? He found the thought doubtful. In any case, he supposed, he didn't _have _to take the handcuffs off her if she was going to be stroppy. He'd have to make sure she didn't have control of them in any case. The last time he'd been to this city, it had been because Clarice put handcuffs on him. Erin had been most helpful in reattaching his thumb back then. He didn't want her to have to do it again. But he had to get her out of the pickle she found herself in before he could determine the appropriate level of restraint to keep her in himself. 

Hannibal Lecter groped a bit for the location of the jail. It was five miles away, just a brief jaunt up the Interstate. He turned and headed down the street the other way, so he would meet the car head-on. There was only one sure way he had to stop it, and if DeGould's car gained the Interstate he would almost assuredly be too late. He drove quickly down the street, passing cars as he went. A few honked at him. No matter. This was a serious problem. 

Dr. Lecter turned down a side street and onto the main road. He believed he had overtaken the prowl car driving Clarice to prison. He shook his head for a moment, remembering. He remembered a young Clarice, standing nervously outside his cell with her good bag and her cheap shoes. _Her _in prison? It seemed a nonsense idea. Then again, he amended, he never would have thought that Erin would have ended up in custody either. 

Dr. Lecter saw the car ahead. Yes, he had overtaken it. Good. He also had roughly a quarter-mile as a head start. Even better. Carefully, he buckled his seat belt and examined the traffic conditions ahead of him. Not too bad. He would have some room in which to do this. 

He gunned the engine of the van and carefully fastened his seat belt. His tongue felt a bit dry. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, and he wasn't nervous. He was, however, concerned. Only a fool would not be. The van had an automatic transmission, and Dr. Lecter dropped it into the lowest gear. Normally, Dr. Lecter preferred the control of a standard transmission. However, the van was a rental, and he had no opportunity to get what he preferred. Erin preferred automatic, he found himself thinking. She'd objected strenuously to the standard transmission in her BMW, back in Berlin. 

He had to leave his wife be for now; he'd be getting her shortly. Clarice needed him now. Dr. Lecter gunned the engine and let the van move forward. He wondered about what he would do once he'd stopped the FBI car. There were taxis around; he would kill the driver, take the car, stash Clarice in the back, and go after his wife. 

There it was – his opening. He had about three hundred feet of open space, then the gleaming nose of the blue Crown Victoria on the other side of the road. He swallowed once and flexed his hands on the dirty leather wheel of the van. Then, he acted. 

Dr. Lecter slammed the accelerator of the van down. Its powerful V8 engine whined. When it the engine was revving high enough, he slipped it into second gear, and the whine eased a bit as it shifted. As it rose again, he shifted it into third gear, the highest he had to work with. As he approached the car in which Clarice was captive, he wrenched the wheel to the left, so that the gleaming grille and wide windshield of the Crown Victoria was directly in front of him. 

For just a moment, in tableau, Dr. Hannibal Lecter glared in at the female FBI agent behind the wheel. She stared at the slightly dirty van that filled the world, racing towards the car, finally understanding that her prey was here, at hand, but not how she wanted it. Behind her, Clarice Starling stared at him as well, her face slightly patterned through the metal screen. There was a look of combined sickness and joy on her face. Dr. Lecter sighed and stored it away in his memory palace, where he would keep it safe. 

Then the van and the car smashed together, twisting in a dance of screaming metal and glass. The hood of the car crumpled, and the grille adorning the blunt nose of the van shattered to pieces. They were both big vehicles and carried a lot of momentum. They slewed a bit to the right, twisting off-kilter to the road. Dr. Lecter had been doing about fifty when he hit the car; and DeGould had been doing roughly forty herself. The sheer force shook the occupants of both vehicles all the way to their bones. 

Glass and plastic tinkled. A vaguely dangerous-looking pool of greenish liquid dripped from the radiators of the two vehicles. Then all was silent and calm again in the world, for just a moment. People stared at what they had just seen. 

The van door opened, and footsteps echoed up to the disabled car.


	16. Dark Knight

_Author's note: _

Sunni: I remember my promise, yes. But as I've said, be careful what you ask for; you just might get it.

LoT: Lost her arms and legs? My, vehicle safety standards down your way must be on the lax side. We'll send Ralph Nader down there. You don't even have to give him back.

Samantha: Boy, you're just a regular head of Amnesty International for Fanfic Characters. Can't I kill off a major character once in a while? 

The merry tinkling of glass and plastic had barely stopped by the time Hannibal Lecter approached the wrecked car. His left hand reached for the doorhandle. His right hand dipped into his jacket pocket and came out with his Harpy. With a firm _click_, the curved blade deployed and was ready for use. 

Rebecca DeGould had not suffered serious injury in the crash. The car's air bag had deployed, which smudged her makeup but saved her from either death or serious injury. It did not, however, provide her much protection against Dr. Lecter. He opened the door and leaned in, seizing DeGould's hair with his left hand. Her throat was carefully exposed. She was still stunned from the accident and was barely able to fight him; her hands drummed against his arms futilely. Dr. Lecter knew exactly where he meant to strike. 

He could see dawning knowledge in her eyes, and it pleased the savage part of him. Better that she die knowing who was killing her. Perhaps even why. She could guess at it; she had been smart enough to engineer Clarice's removal. His arm raised in the tight confines to deliver the killing blow. 

But then something grabbed his attention. Dr. Lecter turned his head fractionally and saw another blue car pulling up behind the wrecked one. Another FBI agent. He reached down and took Rebecca DeGould's pistol from its holster. The Harpy went on his belt where it always did. Normally, Dr. Lecter disliked guns, but facts were facts, and the doctor knew better than to bring a knife to a gunfight. He pulled his head out of the passenger compartment, preparing to bring the gun up as soon as he could. 

A small figure alighted from the car. Dr. Lecter waited, patient as any predator. Once the figure was in the clear he would fire. Then the figure spoke. 

"Hannibal!" she shouted, and he blinked. Had he been about to shoot his own wife? It seemed so. She approached him, looking bewilderedly at the two crashed vehicles. 

"Erin," he said calmly. 

"Are you all right? What are you--," she realized his hand was still clamped on Rebecca DeGould's hair and saw the gun in his other hand. 

"You have a vehicle," Dr. Lecter said. "Good. One moment and we'll be on our way." 

Dawning realization crossed over Erin Lander's face, and disappointment clouded it afterwards. During her time with Dr. Lecter, she had often minimized his more brutal side. Seeing it again was a struggle. After she'd waited so long to see him again…gone through so much…was he really going to do this? 

"You promised," Erin Lander said to her husband. 

Dr. Lecter sighed. "Erin, I promised not to kill whimsically. This isn't whimsical." 

Erin's gaze shifted and she stared into the backseat of the car. 

"I don't think we have time to debate here," she said, and opened the rear door. Dr. Lecter leaned over DeGould to stare in the back. Clarice Starling's form lay on the seat, limp and unmoving. The diamond-mark pattern of the prisoner screen was vividly impressed into her forehead in an ugly red and black mark. Erin leaned over her and examined her with the critical eyes of the surgeon. She opened Clarice's closed eyelids and studied them carefully. She scowled at what she saw. 

"Nope," she said. "Give me the gun. I need you to carry her to the car." 

That made Hannibal Lecter stop. Normally, he would have killed Rebecca DeGould as a matter of principle; he couldn't have pursuers. From what he'd been able to glean from Gregory's ranting, he also suspected she had been a part of the cabal that brought down Clarice. The fact that they had brought down one of the women he cared for by using the other one did not please him in the least. All that suggested that DeGould should die. 

He knew that his wife hated violence, and he supposed she would try just about anything to keep him from killing. In the end, though, Hannibal Lecter knew that he could do it and convince her of the need for it later. But if the price of DeGould's life was Clarice dying here, in the back of this patrol car, shackled like a criminal…now _that _he was not willing to pay. He had his own plans for her. 

So, unwillingly, Dr. Hannibal Lecter gave his wife the gun and reached into the back seat. Clarice lolled limply in his arms. Memories shot through him; they'd done this before. But there were no ravenous pigs this time. Well, perhaps there were, but they carried guns and FBI badges. 

Dr. Lecter stepped from the car with Clarice Starling boneless and limp in his arms. She made no sound; evinced no recognition. Carefully, he carried Clarice to the car Erin had commandeered and placed her inside. While he did, Erin held the gun carefully on the recovering DeGould. DeGould made as if to grab at the muzzle. Erin Lander simply raised the pistol and held it in both hands, the muzzle aimed at DeGould's head. 

"Doctor, you don't want to do this," DeGould said carefully. 

"Oh yes I do," Erin said. "You'll never catch us. You never caught _me_. You just rode Clarice's coattails as far as you could. And don't move. I don't know a lot about guns. I don't want to shoot you accidentally." 

"It's not loaded," DeGould said, and smirked. 

Erin's finger tightened on the trigger. "So it won't matter if I pull this trigger, then?" she asked. The hammer trembled briefly. DeGould paled. Erin smiled. 

"We'll get you," DeGould said. "You're making a big mistake, Dr. Lander. I can help you, if you put down that gun. Starling and Lecter are history, you know that, right? She's going to jail and so is he. You don't want to follow them, do you? C'mon. Put the gun down, I'll go easy on you." 

Erin Lander considered for a moment. When she had been alone in a cell at Quantico, it had been easy to despair. But with _him _here, now, her confidence was assured. Looking into the other woman's face, she could tell. DeGould had lied. Lied about Starling beating her…and lied about Starling _to _her. There was no veracity in that carefully made-up face. 

"As opposed to beating me and withholding food, the way Starling did?" Erin said sarcastically. 

DeGould sighed. "Now look, Dr. Lander…that doesn't involve you. And I can use your help. Look, you'll be a fugitive for the rest of your life. You want that? I can set you free _clean. _You'd never be pursued by _anybody." _

Erin shook her head. "You won't find us," she said calmly. "Try it. We're better than you think. _He's _better than you think." 

Dr. Lecter returned to the car door and took the gun from his wife. "Terribly sorry to interrupt," he said, "but we must be going. Charming to make your acquaintance, Agent DeGould." With his free hand he first took the keys to the ignition, even though he did not think the car would start. Then he reached down and grasped the doorhandle. He wrenched it free with a loud metal crack, tossing the handle to the pavement. The door slammed shut with a loud metal _thunk. _

Then he was running back to their car. Erin was already installed in the back seat with Clarice, carefully watching her. Dr. Lecter threw himself behind the wheel and revved the engine. In a few scant moments, the Crown Victoria was heading down the street. The Interstate exchange was not far down, and the car slewed onto the onramp and merged into traffic. 

"We need to take her to the hospital," Erin told her husband from the back seat. _How interesting, _Dr. Lecter thought. She hadn't seen him for almost a month, been held in captivity, and yet when confronted with a patient, her surgeon mode took over. That, he supposed, was not surprising. Her reasoning was the same as his own. Clarice needed her more. 

But it did not change the facts. 

"No," Dr. Lecter said sharply. "I have a house rented in the country. They won't find us there; it'll be like a needle in a haystack. But we cannot dally in the city." 

Erin's face fell in an expression of shock. "But…but…she needs a hospital. She'll die." 

"We cannot take the chance," Dr. Lecter repeated. "You can pull her through." 

Erin glanced down from Clarice Starling's face to her husband's through the grille. Unconscious, Clarice's expression was serene and peaceful. It contrasted oddly with the hideous mark on her forehead from where it had collided with the prisoner screen at seventy miles an hour. 

"No, I can't," Erin protested. "Not here, not now. Her pupils are not equal or reactive. You stop this car at the hospital now or you stop it at the morgue later. I'm serious." 

"No," Dr. Lecter said. He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. Erin Lander had usually ignored her husband's more brutal side. It was much easier when he was, to all eyes, a museum curator and older doting husband. For the years they had spent in Germany, she'd been able to think of his prior atrocities as something he had done before, in his impetuous youth, as if gruesome murders were on par with drinking too much and driving too fast. 

But here, now, she could not sidestep or ignore it. He meant to escape even if it cost Clarice Starling her life. Erin glanced down at the unconscious woman and back up at him, shock and astonishment writ large on her face. Clarice Starling had always occupied her husband's mind, she knew that. But…_this_? Did he mean to take her life? What was he thinking? This was his first love. Every day of her time with him, she wondered if he was thinking of Starling. She would forever stand in Clarice's shadow. But not any more, apparently. 

"Hannibal Lecter?" Erin asked firmly, reminding Dr. Lecter of the spitfire Irishwomen she was descended from. 

"Yes?" 

"You turn around and go back to OSU Medical Center this minute," Erin snapped. "I don't know if you're doing this for me, to show me you'll give her up for me, but if you are that is _not _your choice to make. She needs a head CT this minute. If you won't, stop this car and let me out. I have no idea what you're planning here, but this is _not _funny, this is _not _a joke, and if you're offering me her life as a sacrifice, I don't _want _it." 

Amusing, really. Dr. Lecter knew he intimidated his wife, among other things. Rarely did she ever display any sort of temper around him. When she did, he found it more amusing than anything else. 

"No hospital, Erin," he said calmly, still driving away from the city. Erin reached for the doorhandle, as if jumping out on the Interstate would do anything other than kill Clarice more quickly. 

Dr. Lecter shook his head. This was a police car; there were no rear doorhandles.

"You couldn't open the door if you wanted," he said calmly. "Now, now. Let us enjoy a bit of time in the Ohio countryside before we flee. You and I. Haven't you missed me?" 

Erin's face showed no joy at the thought, only realization of the terrible, unbelievable truth. Dr. Lecter had saved Clarice Starling from jail only to kill her himself. 

"Yes," she said. "Are you going to miss Clarice, once she's _DEAD?" _

Dr. Lecter chuckled. "I do care for Clarice, yes," he said. 

"Then maybe you should try saving her life," Erin said. 

Dr. Lecter continued as if she had not interrupted. "But the fact is, Erin, I can't be with her and you. I've chosen you. Doesn't that please you? As for Clarice…well, the fact is she took something from me, and that must be dealt with." 

"Took _what_?" Erin shrieked hysterically, batting at the glass. 

"Took you," Dr. Lecter said simply. "And with you, our child. That was rude, don't you think? But never fear, my dear. I brought along my picnic basket." 

The Crown Victoria left the city limits behind and disappeared swiftly into the country. 


	17. Golgotha

                First, there was pain.   

                At first, the pain seemed to be free-floating, everywhere, over her entire body.  Then it slowly began to slide back together to her head.  It was dizzying and nauseating.  She could feel her mouth trembling involuntary, spit electric in her mouth.  

                Then there was the sting of a needle in her arm, and she could feel something being inserted.  It felt odd; cool, somehow.  _IV, _part of her mind whispered.  She could hear hushed voices speaking and wondered what they were saying.  

                Then her eyes opened slowly.  Clarice Starling looked around and blinked owlishly.  Thinking was hard; it was as if she was packed in grease.  She was sitting in a stout oak armchair.  The room she was in was a kitchen.  She could see the refrigerator from where she sat.  It was the old-fashioned kind, with a metal latch, and that made her think of Chesapeake.  Chesapeake, with Dr. Lecter's infamous dinner for her.  At the time, she hadn't known what a turning point it would be in her life.  For there she had turned down Dr. Lecter, there she had put the cuffs on him, and there he had chopped off his thumb in order to escape.  And then he had re-entered Erin's life, and _she _had made the decision Clarice did not.  

 She tried to move her arms and found she could not.  When she tried to lower her head and look at them, she found she couldn't do that either.   There was something under her chin holding her head upright.  Her head was completely immovable.

                She stared puzzledly as Erin Lander moved around her.  The other woman wore a surgical robe, cap, and mask.  She squatted to look into Clarice's eyes.  Smile wrinkles appeared around her eyes.  

                "You're awake," she said in a businesslike tone.  "Good.  I want you awake for this."  

                "Wha…wha happened?" Clarice asked drowsily.  

                "You were in an accident," Erin said calmly.  She stood.  Clarice felt something inside her scalp pull tight. It felt weird.   She shivered involuntarily.  

                "What're you doing?" she asked dumbly.  

                "What I have to do," Erin answered in a businesslike tone.   "For right now, I'm tying off the major blood vessels."  

                Clarice managed to finally get a blurry image of her right hand by forcing her eye down as far as it would go.  It was strapped down to the arm of the chair with duct tape.  In front of Clarice was the picnic basket Dr. Lecter had bought in Washington.  Next to it was a tray draped with a sterile sheet.  On the tray were medical instruments.  Clarice's tired, medicated brain refused to tell her what most of them were.  But she recognized two of them just fine.  A scalpel…and a cranial saw.  

                Clarice tensed against her bonds and tried to move her head.  It was useless.  The duct tape held her quite firmly.  The head clamp holding her head was inescapable.  Erin frowned.  

                "Calm down, Agent Starling," she said.  "It's OK." 

                "OK?" Clarice gasped.  "No…don't…you're gonna…,"  

                She trembled remembering the horror she'd felt when Dr. Lecter removed Krendler's headband and removed the top of his skull. She'd always thought – she'd always _hoped _– that she would be exempt from such a fate in his eyes.   But now that seemed open to question.

                "Clarice," Erin said calmly, "it's all right." 

                "All right, _shit_," Clarice said, and contorted her muscles anew. She could feel the cool metal frame around her head press against her neck.  "You're gonna…you…my _brain…._," 

                "It's not going to hurt," Erin Lander, MD, explained.  "I'll make sure of that."  

                "No," Clarice said, the word turning into a sob halfway through.  She wasn't getting away.  She had no leverage.   

                _I'm going to die, _she thought.  _She's going to saw open my skull and cook my brain.  Just like Krendler.  _

                But this couldn't be right.  She'd tried to be good.  She'd tried to treat Erin as humanely as she possibly could.  Clarice Starling was not the enemy.  She had to make Erin understand that.  Hadn't she done everything in her power to make Erin's incarceration comfortable?  

                "Erin, c'mon," she said in a powerless whisper.  "You mad at me?  Is that what this is about?  Can't we talk about it?"  

                "No," Erin Lander said calmly, "we can't."  She picked up the scalpel and leaned down to where Clarice Starling's head was held in a clamp.  

                "Wait," Clarice said.  "Erin, _please.  _I was good to you.  I took care of you.  I mean, c'mon, I made sure you had everything you needed and everything I could give you.  You gonna do this to me?" 

                "Yes, I am," Erin said, and carefully pressed the scalpel into Clarice Starling's forehead.  Anesthetics had been administered beforehand, and as Erin had promised it did not hurt.  But Clarice knew what was happening.  Erin was going to open up her skull and Dr. Lecter would eat her brains.  She shuddered, horribly nauseated by the slow drip of blood down her face.  Carefully, Erin wiped it off and continued incising Clarice's scalp.

                Thinking was hard, but she had to do it.  She wanted to just lie limp in her bonds.  More than anything, she just wanted to rest.  But Clarice Starling had always been a fighter, and if she had to fight she would.  

                So she strove to make eye contact with the other woman.  _Eye contact.  Humanize yourself, a killer can't kill a victim who's human to them._  Jesus, had she misread the surgeon this badly?   She found herself wondering what had happened to DeGould and forced herself to abandon the thought.  Rebecca DeGould was about as irrelevant as the gross national product of Eritrea in her current situation.

                "Erin, c'mon," she said, hoping the other woman would call her by name.  "Don't.   Don't do this to me.  You're not…that's not who you are, is it?" 

                "I'm a surgeon," Erin answered distantly, "I cut people open every day.  Well, not recently, not since you captured me."  

                "Erin, I _saved _you," Clarice said.  "I didn't want you in that county jail.  And I got you out, didn't I?" 

                "Yes," Erin said, standing and turning.  The incision was a quarter of the way done now, a line extending from Clarice's forehead around to just above the ear.  "You sure did.  Into another cell.  One that was more comfortable, sure, but just a cell."  

                "I had to do that," Clarice said.  "It was my job."  

                "This is mine," Erin said distantly.  

                "Don't," Clarice whispered.  "Don't do this to me."  It wasn't begging, but it was close.  She didn't want to die like this.  Not taped to a chair.  Was this what it had been like for Paul Krendler? Had he asked Dr. Lecter to spare him?  Had he begged or cried or gone out stoically?  She had never thought of it before. "You're a doctor, you're supposed to _help _people, not _kill _people, Erin, don't do this to me.  You'll never be able to live with yourself.  I interviewed your teachers at OSU.  They all said you were good…good at your job.  You were dedicated to helping people _live. _I wanted to help you.  Now you help me.  I'll…I'll let you have him.  I won't stand in your way, I told you that."   Her heart began to pound.  "This isn't right. You know this isn't right."  

                "I don't expect you to understand," Erin said.  

                "You remember what it was like when your daddy died, right?"  Clarice could feel sweat trickling down her back where she was wedged in the armchair.  

                Erin paused.  Her free hand flexed into a fist at the memory.  

                "Yes," she said carefully.  

                "It hurt, right?  I know how that is, Erin.  My daddy died when I was a little girl, too.  I know what it's like.   Is that why you became a doctor?  To try and save somebody else?"  

                "Probably," Erin Lander said, but she returned to her incision.   

                Clarice clamped her eyes shut.  "You save people.  That's what you do.  That's what I do, too.  Now here's your chance, Erin.  Don't do this.  Think about the pain you felt.  Do you want someone else to have to go through that, Erin?  I don't think you do."  Who would mourn her?  Ardelia, probably.  She hadn't talked to any of her siblings in years.  

                "I told you," Erin Lander said distractedly again, "it's going to be okay."   

                Clarice saw a gas burner and a silver bowl on the table and her heart began to pound harder.   What else was there?  Sauce?  Lemon?  Images of Krendler's reddish brain appeared in her head and she forced it back down.

                As Erin crossed around to continue her incision in Clarice's head, the kitchen door opened and Dr. Hannibal Lecter entered the room.  He, too, wore a surgeon's robe and mask.  Above the mask, his eyes were amused at the sight of one of the women in his life carefully scalping the other.  He sat down comfortably to watch Erin work.  

                Clarice trembled at the sight of him.  Being helpless around Dr. Hannibal Lecter was not a promising position to be in.  But could _he _really do this to her?  Would he sit idly by and let Erin saw open her skull?  Was he going to …cook her brain and feed it to her?  

                "Hello, Clarice," he said, and that _still _sent chills down her spine.  

                "Dr. Lecter," she said powerlessly.  "Don't…don't do this," she added after a moment.  

                His eyebrows raised.  "Don't do what?" he asked.  "_I _am just sitting here, Clarice."  

                For a moment, Clarice could only stare at him, her blue eyes blank with horror.  

                "Don't…don't let her do this to me," Clarice whispered.  "Dr. Lecter…please.  Do I really deserve this?"  

                Dr. Lecter shrugged.  "Deserve?  Sort of a silly question, don't you think, Clarice?  It's all relative.  Did Mr. Krendler deserve what he got?  Did Dr. Chilton? Some might say no.  I said yes.  It's just a personal opinion what one deserves, you know.   For that matter," he paused and looked her in the eye, "did Dr. Lander deserve to be incarcerated?"  

                "I did right by her," Clarice insisted, unconsciously slipping back to the dialect she had originally spoken.  "I did everthang I could for her."  

                "Still," Dr. Lecter said, "no one takes from me what is mine, Clarice.  Not even you.  I cannot let such a thing go…unanswered."  

                "So you're gonna _kill_ me," Clarice said.  It was…unbelievable.  Unthinkable.  

                "Kill?  Perhaps that's an overstatement.  But I _am _so very hungry."  

                "Dr. Lecter,--" Clarice said, searching for something, _anything_ to say.  "After everything we've been through…you're gonna let her do this to me?" 

                "I told her to," Dr. Lecter said calmly.  He leaned forward in his chair and lowered his mask.  When he spoke again, his voice held an actual tinge of regret.  

                "Clarice," he said regretfully, "I'm sorry…it's come to this."  

                Then he touched her face and tilted his own, bringing it in close.  His lips against hers were soft and smooth, speaking of buried yearnings and what could have been.  Despite herself, Clarice Starling began to cry.   

                "I chose _wrong," _she said, twisting in her bonds.  A tear trickled down her cheek.   "I should've gone with you, I know that, but don't kill me for that.  Don't…don't do this to me.  Please, Dr. Lecter.  Don't do this."  

                "I'm not," Dr. Lecter explained helpfully.  "Erin is."  

                Clarice rolled her eyes to the right, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of Erin.  For her part, Erin was absorbed in what she was doing.  The scalpel traced along carefully to where it started, making a neat incision along Clarice's scalp.  There was no pain, but she could feel the pressure of Erin Lander's gloved fingers digging into the sides, separating the sides of the incision.

                Erin Lander put down the scalpel and picked up the cranial saw.  She pressed the button on the handle.  The saw shrieked hellishly as the motor whined into life.  Clarice flinched as much as she could.     

                "Clarice," she said in a tone of regret, "it's the only way."  

                "Erin, you'll never be able to live with yourself," Clarice whispered.  Her eyes met Dr. Lecter's.  The defiance of the damned arose up in her.  

                "Or you, Dr. Lecter," she said.  "You act all cold-blooded, but you'll never be able to live with yourself if you do this.  I _know _you, doctor, you won't do this."  

                Dr. Lecter chuckled coldly.  

                "Ah, Clarice," he said.  "Both of you have this in common.  You choose not to see my darker side.  I am quite capable of doing this.  I assure you.  Dr. Lander, if you please…,"  

                The saw whined into life again, a hideous screech.  Clarice closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.  The whine took on a deeper note as it hit bone.  


	18. Balancing the Scales

                _Author's note:  I understand from the reviews of the past few chapters that a few people seem agitated and upset by recent events in this fic.  Well, here's some unguent for all those shattered souls.  Steel, seems you figured out what was going on there, good job. LadyOfTruths, presumably this chapter will make you happy.  Screaming Lamb, did mine eyes deceive me, or did you actually object to a character's gory death? _

Clarice Starling awoke with a start.  She found herself soaked in sweat.  _What a horrible nightmare, she thought.  She had dreamed that Erin Lander had sawed open her skull with a cranial saw while Dr. Lecter watched, seemingly amused.  Then she made two horrible discoveries.  _

                The first was that she could not move.  She was lying on her side.  Her head ached.  When she tried to roll over, she could not.  Her wrists were bound with canvas straps to the side of the bed.  Not a hospital bed, Clarice noticed.  A normal bed, the type one might find in a house.  She could feel wider straps holding her in position.  She whimpered.  

                The second was that she was not alone.  The room was dark, but she could hear footsteps and see a faint silhouette in what light there was.  Red dots reflected from the pupils of the figure, making him appear almost demonic.  Clarice hissed and drew back.  

                "Hello, Clarice," Dr. Lecter said calmly.  "You're awake.  Good."  

                "I can't move," Clarice said, and tried to kick.  Her ankles were strapped down and immovable.  "I can't move.  What the hell did you do to me?"  

                "Clarice," Dr. Lecter said, "I'll be happy to discuss that with you.  But I must ask you not to thrash around.   Doctor's orders."  

                "Yours?" she spat.  

                Dr. Lecter shook his sleek head.  "Hers, actually.  I assure you, Clarice, none of this has been for your detriment."  

                Clarice kicked a bit more.  Dr. Lecter sighed.  "Clarice…I'll sedate you if you force me to.  Now please.  Would you care to discuss this like reasonable people?"  

                "You had her saw my fucking _skull open!" Clarice shouted, all the fury and frustration of the past few days filling her limbs.  Dr. Lecter's mouth turned down in disapproval.  _

                "Yes, I did," Dr. Lecter agreed.  "Now wouldn't you like to know why?"  He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a syringe.  "Now either we talk like two rational people, or I'll sedate you and we'll take this up later.  I had _thought, Clarice, that you might like to know a bit more about what has happened to you."  _

                She was still angry.  A week ago she'd been in charge of the Lecter task force.  Now she'd been accused, suspended, arrested, almost killed, and had her head cut open.  Rational people?  Boy, oh boy.  He didn't know rational from a hole in the ground.  After what he'd done to her he wanted her to be _rational? _

                But she didn't want to be doped up, so she relaxed.  Her blue eyes sparked angry sparks at him.  Satisfied, Dr. Lecter pulled up his chair to her bedside and sat down comfortably.  

                "Clarice, you're not a medical person, so don't interpret this as patronization," he said mildly.  _Such a considerate serial killer, Clarice thought angrily.  "Do you know what a subdural hematoma is?"  _

                The concrete question diffused her anger as she thought.  Slowly, she swallowed and took a breath.  She'd worked pathology before, but as an assistant.  But this question she knew the answer to.  

                "Bleeding in the brain, isn't it?" she said.  

                "Very good.  Yes, bleeding under the layer of the dura," Dr. Lecter said.  "Quite serious.  If untreated, it can be life-threatening.  Or the patient can end up a vegetable.  Gorks, we used to call them.  Do you know how it is treated?"  

                Hearing those words thrown around so casually made Clarice shiver.  "No," she admitted.  

                "The blood clot must be drained," Dr. Lecter explained.  

                Clarice Starling was silent for several minutes.  Then she worked her tongue.  "Is this…do I have one?" _Get me to the hospital, you psychotic, was what she meant to say.  _

                "Not anymore," Dr. Lecter said.  "We got you back to the house, and then Erin performed an emergency craniotomy.  Opening the skull, I believe you remember that part.  Hard to forget, isn't it?  After that, Clarice, a small tube is inserted in the surface of the brain in order to drain out the excess fluid.  Which brings us to where we are now.  You're restrained because there is a tube in your brain.  The other end of the tube is emptying into the collection bag below your bed.  It's quite vital that you not move too much.  Not to torment you, but to ensure you heal properly."  

                Clarice Starling blinked.  This was all…medical?  She still had her brain?  They hadn't eaten it?  

                "You mean…I'm okay?"  she said, feeling an absurd gratitude.  "I thought you were going to…," she trailed off.  

                "Do to you what I'd done to Mr. Krendler?" Dr. Lecter asked.  "Oh, _no, Clarice.  I assure you, had I removed even a fourth of what I'd removed from Krendler, you would not be able to function in the manner you are."  He chuckled.  "If you can understand the words __subdural hematoma, you don't have one.  Well, yours is healing nicely, from all considerations."  _

                 Clarice Starling found herself choking.  All this was normal?  Routine?  They'd done the procedure in the _kitchen.  Terrorizing her like this for his own idle amusement.  The man was cruel, there was no denying that.  __  She suddenly realized how dry her throat was._

                "I want some water," Clarice said miserably.

                Dr. Lecter shook his head.  "I'm afraid that will have to wait until Erin returns," he said.  "I will confess to having experience in _opening skulls, but she's the one who knows how to treat patients once the skull has been __closed. That skill is one I never did pick up."  __   _

                Clarice's hands flexed.  She found herself shaking.  Whether this was anger or fear or relief she could not say.  All this had been a sadistic _game?       _

                "Where is she?"  Clarice asked wearily.  

                "She was going to a small county not far away to file some papers with the county courthouse," Dr. Lecter explained.  "I understand you've had some employment problems with the FBI over your alleged treatment of her.  Regrettably, she won't be available to testify on your behalf.  Presumably, however, a duly filed affidavit stating that the allegations of abuse are untrue will do a great deal to clear your name."  

                "Not enough," Clarice said wearily.  Even though she was tied down and helpless, she was beginning to feel safe enough to unburden herself to the man.  The fact that she was, in fact, able to think normally was beginning to dawn on her.  She felt a bit groggy, but otherwise okay.  "DeGould's gonna have something else to keep me down.  She knows people."  

                "DeGould.  I see."  Dr. Lecter was noncommittal.  "Yes.  Too bad Erin wouldn't let me kill her.  Never mind, I'll make a phone call on your behalf.  But she gets so _upset about that sort of thing."_

                Clarice chuckled sardonically.  "But sawing open my head is just fine and dandy," she said bitterly.

                "Clarice, she's a trauma surgeon.  I admit to making her engage in a bit of dramatics, but really, you're being harsh.  She did what was necessary to save your life."  

                She met his eyes with tired disbelief.  "If this was necessary," Clarice Starling hissed, "then why the hell didn't you just tell me?  You scared the piss out of me."  

                Dr. Lecter chuckled.  "I doubt that, Clarice, you were catheterized.  I told you why, before, actually."  

                She stared at him.  In a way it was intently frustrating.  Her prey, right here, and she was completely helpless to bring him to justice as was her sworn duty.  But part of her found that she didn't want to do that.  Even if she couldn't have him, she did not need to take away his freedom.  Her feelings on the matter were academic, though.  Currently all she might be able to do was grab him with her toes.  

                "You scared me half to death," Clarice repeated.  "Why? Why couldn't you have just told me?"  

                "As I said before," Dr. Lecter said calmly, "you took my wife.  I couldn't let that go unanswered.  Killing you would've been a bit much, Clarice, it would take a great deal more for me to have to do that.  But _scaring you a bit…well, that's fair play."  _

                The answer astonished and enraged Clarice.  He'd just been screwing with her head?  All this had just been a sick game?  

                "_Fair play?" Clarice said, breathing heavily with rage.  "You sick son of a bitch, you think that was __fair?  I thought I was going to die in there!"  _

                "Oh, Clarice, I've told you before," Dr. Lecter smiled.  "Your problem is you need to get more fun out of life."  The humor dropped from his tone.  "Now answer me this, Clarice Starling, before you get so _morally indignant."  He rolled the words around in his mouth, coating them in the mocking undertone he always did when making fun of something.  "When you went to go get Erin out of the jail, did you __really not employ fear to secure her cooperation?  Did you really avoid playing those cards, Clarice?"  _

                "I didn't play with her like you did me," Clarice said.  

                "Oh no?  You didn't dangle horrible images in front of her?  You never told her that they'd take away her baby?  That if she did not cooperate with you, she'd lose everything she held dear?  Did you play _hardball with her, Clarice?  Did you make her __cry?"  _

                Clarice gritted her teeth, smarting under the accusation.   She had.  In her defense, she had felt very guilty about it, and she'd done it to make Erin realize what she was up against.   But yes, dammit, she'd done the same thing.  

                "That bag below the bed contains a rather unappetizing mess of blood and cerebrospinal fluid, Clarice, but I doubt the answer is there."  

                "Yes.  Dammit.  I did.  But not for my own sadistic pleasure," she retorted.  "I did it so I could help her."  

                "Help her.  Really.  How _noble _of you, Clarice, traumatizing a pregnant woman so you could _help _her.  You could have just let her go free, Clarice.  She hadn't harmed a soul."  His eyes gleamed.  "Unlike me, I will admit.   She's so _squeamish about that sort of thing."  _

                "I did it for the right reasons," Clarice said.  In the back of her mind, she wondered how it had come to this so quickly.  She wondered how Erin managed to live with him without going insane.  Here she was, flat on her back and helpless, and he was demanding she justify herself.  

                "Because you wanted to, isn't that it?" Dr. Lecter parried.  "You wanted my hide on the wall and you wanted her cooperation to get it.  I wanted to make a point about taking from me what is mine.  And it strikes me as fair.  No harm, no foul, after all."  

                "No harm?" Clarice asked incredulously.  

                "Considering your current condition is identical to the condition you would have been in had Erin's former employer treated you, yes.  Actually, better, since you needn't eat hospital food."  His tone was pleasant again.   "You needn't take my word for it, Clarice.  Once we're established that you're stable, we'll be taking our leave of you.  You'll be able to have the neurologist of your choice tell you the same thing."  

                The sound of a car engine in the driveway caused Dr. Lecter's head to turn.  He seemed not to be worried, as if the sound of the engine alone told him that his wife had returned in lieu of a team of FBI agents.   A few minutes later, Erin Lander entered the room and looked at the two of them.  

                "Good morning, Clarice," she said in a rather businesslike tone.  "Let's have a look at your head and see how things look."  

                Dr. Lecter nodded and excused himself from the room, quietly explaining that he had to make a quick phone call.  Clarice watched the other woman approach her with some trepidation.  It wasn't until Erin began to undo the bandages around her head that Clarice began to feel comfortable.  Erin examined her handiwork and nodded approvingly.  

                "Can I see?" Clarice asked.  Erin shrugged and retrieved a hand mirror from the nightstand nearby.  

                As her own reflection began to hover in the mirror, Clarice steeled herself. Illogically, she was convinced that the top of her head would be missing.  She held her breath and waited as her face appeared in the mirror.  How would it look?  Would her brain be reddish, the way Krendler's had been?  Had Erin sawed her skull all the way through?  

                But what appeared was a pale, wan face with a perfectly normal head of hair atop it.  She could see a thin line of small sutures running around her head.  But both scalp and skull looked to be present.   Bizarrely, though, a small plastic tube sprouted from her head now.  She could see something oozing from it.  That she found vaguely troubling.  

                "Whoa," Clarice muttered.   Her eyes met Erin's.  "Am I…am I gonna be all right?"  

                Erin took a few moments before answering.  

                "I can't say for sure, Clarice," she hedged.  "You're talking, and that's a good sign.  Once you're done draining, we can let you up and see if you can move.  I _can _tell you I got to your bleed before it got too advanced."  

                "Yes," Clarice observed pointedly, "since you didn't waste any time telling me what was going on."  

                Erin sighed.  "He made me do it," she said.  "He wanted to scare you."  

                "He succeeded," Clarice said drily. 

                Erin shrugged.  "I did what I had to do, Clarice."  She chuckled, taking out a syringe and filling it from a vial.  "It's funny, in a way," she remarked.  

                "How?  Sawing my head open is funny?" 

                "No," Erin said.  "You said before you'd give me my life back.  Well,…I gave you yours, too."

                Clarice found herself thinking about that for a moment.  It took her a few minutes to put her question into words.  

                "You mean I'll be able to go back to the FBI?" she asked.  

                "Hopefully," Erin said.  "You won't be able to go back to the field until your skull heals, but you can work in the office in a couple of weeks."  

                "How long will that be?" Clarice wanted to know.  

                Erin shrugged.  "A few months."  

                Dr. Lecter appeared in the doorway, holding a manila envelope.

                "If you're stable, Clarice, then I'm afraid Erin and I need to be going," he said.  "I do have this one thing for you, though."  He placed the envelope on the bed and untied Clarice's wrists.  Clarice opened the envelope and looked at it.  It was a signed and notarized affidavit, stamped with the seal of the Logan County Superior Court.  Clarice found herself wondering where that might be, and decided it didn't matter.  Under all the _I swear this to be true _and legal talk, the important part was right there.  

                _I, Erin Lander, was incarcerated at Quantico, Virgina, in the legal custody of Special Agent Clarice M. Starling.  During that time, Agent Starling treated me with dignity and respect.  Any allegations of abuse on her part towards me are simply untrue.  Never once during my time at Quantico did Agent Starling abuse me either physically or psychologically._

Clarice smiled tiredly.  This was what she needed.  

                "Well, goodbye, Clarice," Erin said.  "I'll give you two a minute."  She left the room silently.  

                Dr. Lecter cleared his throat.  

                "We'll be calling an ambulance for you after we leave," Dr. Lecter said.  "I presume you'll be all right in the time it takes the ambulance crew to get here.  They'll take you into Columbus for further treatment, but the hard part is over.  

                Clarice sighed.  "Thank you," she said, and found herself wondering what to say.  Why did it always seem that any time she had with him was always so rushed?  

                "Do you ever think about what would have happened if I'd said yes to you?" she asked, the question coming out in a rush before she knew what she was saying.  

                Dr. Lecter smiled once.  "Oh yes," he said.  "I most certainly do.  But circumstances have changed, Clarice.  I cannot simply leave my pregnant wife."  

                Clarice tried to shake her head before realizing that probably wasn't a bright idea, given the circumstances.  "Oh, no," she said, "I wouldn't ask you to do that.  That would be…rude."  

                "Do you, Clarice?"  

                Clarice Starling flexed her hands and felt tears spring to her eyes despite herself.   

                "Every day," she said.  

                "Are you content with your decision?" The question was gentle, but probing.  

                Clarice cleared her throat.  "Happy, no, but content, I guess," she began.  "There are so many wolves out there."  

                "And so many lambs who need saving, hmmm?"  

                "Yes." 

                "I daresay you'll be taking a brief hiatus from the lamb-saving business for a bit, Clarice.  But you'll be back in it soon enough.  Take care to let this wolf be, hmm?  I'm to be a family man soon."  

                Dr. Lecter bent down and kissed Clarice Starling most tenderly where she lay in her sickbed.  Just as before, it spoke of things that could have been and of a bittersweet regret.  But this time, Clarice did not cry.  When it was over, she simply smiled.  Even as the footsteps retreated, as the car engine started, she simply lay there.  Everything would be just fine.  Even fifteen minutes later, when the ambulance crew burst into the room, they remarked on the sad, serene little smile on Clarice Starling's lips.  

                …

                THREE DAYS LATER 

                Rebecca DeGould alighted from her BMW and walked up the walkway to her condominium.  She was talking on her cell phone to Sneed.  The Lander escape and recapture had turned into a giant cluster fuck, all of a sudden, and now Sneed was blaming _her.  _Like it was her damn fault.  

                "Listen," she said.  "Starling has a frigging _affidavit. _ We gotta come up with some way to attack that affidavit.  Claim it wasn't her.  Does she have any friends who could have filed it for her?"  

                "You screwed up, DeGould," Sneed said.  "Pure and simple.  Starling's going to be reinstated.  Not a damn thing we can do about it.  Not unless you can get us Lander."  

                "Lander's gone, you numb shit," DeGould hissed.  "We need to come up with something else.  Like now.  If Starling gets reinstated, my ass is grass.  I stuck my neck out for you, Sneed.  You wanted this job done and I did it.  Now you are _not _leaving me to hang out to dry on this while you sit pretty in your little office over at Justice."  

                "Look, Rebecca," Sneed said, "you screwed up, plain and simple.  You should've just held Starling at the scene.  Nobody but you demanded to perp-walk her for the cameras."  

                The conversation continued as Rebecca DeGould fumbled for her keys.  She was quite heated, feeling that Sneed and his friends were going to just let her swing in the wind alone on this.  So it was understandable that she did not see the man behind her as he stepped from the darkness to her porch.  

                She didn't see the crowbar as it was raised high behind her, either.  She did feel it when it came down on the back of her head, though.  Stars flashed through her vision and she dropped the phone.  To her credit, Rebecca DeGould remembered her FBI training and reached for the pistol on her belt.  She tried to roll over.  The crowbar came down a second time, then a third, with two wet _thumps.  _ By then, Rebecca had stopped moving.  Her right hand relaxed and the pistol slid from nerveless fingers.

                But the man standing behind her did not stop.  The crowbar came down again and again, over and over.  By the time the man finally stopped and leaned over her, the business end of the crowbar was stained red.  So was the back of Rebecca DeGould's head.  

                Next to her limp, unmoving form, the cell phone continued squawking from its tiny speaker.  

                "DeGould?  What the hell?  Where are you? DeGould?  _DeGould?" _


	19. Ever After

Clarice Starling walked into the hospital and sighed.  She'd been released from the hospital a few weeks ago herself, and she didn't like walking back into one.  The cleanlier-than-thou chemical smell of disinfectant; the doctors and nurses who treated you like a fairly intelligent child; having to submit to having your skull X-rayed by surgeons who had trouble grasping that one of their own had already done what they wanted to do.  But this was something she had to do.  

                Clarice felt okay herself.  It was sometimes troubling to think that there were titanium screws holding her skull together; she'd seen them on the X-ray.  But her prognosis had been good.  She was able to walk and talk.  Everything that had been there before still seemed to be.  She was on desk duty only and wouldn't be cleared for the field until her skull healed.  It hurt sometimes, but she had Vicodin and she was functional.  For that, she was thankful.  Rebecca DeGould had not been so fortunate.

It was harder, she thought, because of the situation.  DeGould hadn't ever been her friend. She knew she would not be particularly welcome in the younger woman's hospital room.  Perhaps the news Clarice had for her would cheer her up a bit.  But not by much, Clarice knew.  After what DeGould had been through, there was little reason for celebration.  

Had their positions been reversed, Clarice thought, DeGould might have taken some joy in the situation.  But Clarice could not.  DeGould might lust for power and destroying her enemies, but what drove Clarice had remained constant since the day she'd become an FBI agent.  To protect the weak.  To capture the guilty.  To see that justice was done and some sort of order prevailed in the world.  To save the lambs, one might say.  

The ICU was on the third floor, and Clarice found her way there.  The nurse at the charge desk was distantly helpful, the way nurses were with those wishing to visit their charges.  Calmly, Clarice explained who she was and who she was here to see.  

Rebecca DeGould was in a private room at the back of the ICU, where it was quiet.  She turned in the bed when Clarice entered and sighed.  The one eye that was visible closed in resignation.  The other was still covered over with the same bandages that was wrapped around the top of her skull.  She let out a sigh, but said nothing.  Clarice stood and fidgeted for a moment, wondering what to say.   DeGould seemed shattered.  The malice and cold-blooded ruthlessness that had marked her time on the task force seemed to be completely absent.   

"Hi," she said finally.  

"Hello, Starling," DeGould said distantly.  Her one visible eye stared at the wall.  

Clarice had read the report of the assault on her errant agent.  She would have to privately admit some pleasure when she had first heard.  But after reading through the particulars of the assault, she found herself unable to take any pleasure at all in it.  She'd hoped for DeGould's sake that she'd been unconscious when her assailant had dropped the crowbar and the assault had turned sexual.  From DeGould's manner, Clarice suspected she hadn't been.  

Silence reigned in the room for several minutes.  

"A few people at the office have been asking about you," Clarice offered.  

"Eager to see me down, I suppose," Rebecca DeGould said.  

More silence.  Clarice shifted uncomfortably.  

"Look, DeGould," Clarice said finally, "I came here to tell you two things.  First off,  I'm not going to file a complaint on you.  I'm going to recommend that this be handled as a standard medical discharge."  

Rebecca DeGould did not respond.  Clarice wondered for a moment what to think.  What were you supposed to say?  She didn't like DeGould and never would.  But she couldn't help but feel some sympathy.  _Damn these morals of mine, she thought.  Ardelia thought she was insane, pointing out that if she let DeGould slide, DeGould might conceivably one day apply for reinstatement.  With a clean disciplinary record, that would probably happen.  If Clarice filed a complaint with OPR on her, it almost assuredly wouldn't.  But Clarice had her morals, and she felt it was to her credit that she complied with them rather than her detriment.  Besides, she'd pointed out, DeGould probably had connections through her wealthy father, and maybe if Clarice eased off DeGould might reciprocate.  The last thing she needed was some bought-and-paid-for Congressman or Senator on her case.   And Rebecca DeGould might've taken pleasure in trying to destroy her, but Clarice could not bring herself to do the same.  _

"I don't think we're ever going to be buddies," Clarice added, "but I don't believe in kicking people when they're down.  I think you've suffered enough." 

DeGould nodded distantly, as if she had only barely heard.  

 "Also, we got him.  The guy who did this."  

DeGould shrugged.   

"Thought that might make you feel better," Clarice offered.  She felt uncomfortable and clumsy.  _Dear God, she thought, __am I actually feeling sympathy for Rebecca DeGould?  _

DeGould shrugged again.  "Guess he won't do it to anyone else," she said.  "Doesn't help me much."  Her voice was frosty and far away.  

Clarice nodded.  

"Well, I don't think you particularly want to talk to me right now," Clarice said.  "But I am sorry for what's happened to you.  I do have to go now.  We're picking up the perp at the airport."  

"Bye, Starling," was the only answer she got.  

Still feeling uncomfortable, Clarice found herself wondering if she'd said the right thing as she headed downstairs.  But what was she supposed to say?  DeGould was still in shock.  And it seemed to be somehow hypocritical to Clarice to pretend they were best friends now.  Well, sometimes all there was to do was to do what you thought was honorable and hope for the best.  

Her agents, along with Ardelia, were waiting for her downstairs.  Her reinstatement had gone pretty smoothly.  DeGould had actually done a pretty good job of documenting what she'd done.  And Clarice had been focusing on the US, explaining to her team that she believed that Dr. Lecter was still in the United States.  

"How is she?" Ardelia asked.  

Clarice shrugged.  "Not good," she explained.  "He was…pretty rough with her."  

"I can't believe you're not pressing charges with OPR," Ardelia said.  

"Well," Clarice said after some thought, "sometimes showing mercy is the right thing to do."  

They headed out to the parking garage without too much conversation.  Now they had to head to the airport to pick up their perpetrator.  The man who had caused so much bloodshed.  

"Can I drive?" Myers asked.  Clarice chuckled.  

"Sure," she said calmly, and slid into the back seat.  The big car boomed out of the parking garage and picked up the Beltway.  It was a quicker trip than most to Dulles.  There, the group assembled at the gate and waited.  There wasn't much chat as they waited.  The mood seemed to be depressed.  

But then the plane they were seeking landed.  It took a while; first the passengers had to deplane and then their prisoner was wheeled off.  Clarice took a deep breath.  

The man was strapped to a furniture dolly and wore a straitjacket. The agents who had accompanied him back on the plane wheeled him forward.   His face was covered by a mask.  Clarice swallowed and stepped forward, gathering her courage.  

"Mr. Lynch?"  she asked.  "I'm Special Agent Clarice Starling.   Do you know why you've been brought back here?"  

"Because," Gregory Lynch giggled, "because I did what he told me to.  I got the dirty girl."  

"Yes, you did," Clarice said, and sighed.  There was no way this man was ever going to face a courtroom for what he had done.  He'd been found in Berlin, walking the streets naked and mumbling about dirty girls.  

"Now Gregory," Clarice said, "somebody got you a plane ticket to Germany.  Somebody made sure you had your passport on you.  Somebody helped you, Gregory.  Can you tell me who that was?"  

"Who?" Gregory cackled and drooled a bit inside his mask.  "My therapist, yes.  He's going to get me out of here, you know.  He did it once before.  He's going to help me get _all the dirty girls.  He told me, yes, oh yes, he did."  _

"Well, Gregory," Clarice said, still trying to reach the insane man, "you're gonna have to go to the asylum right now.  You're gonna stay there until they find you sane."  

"Sane?"  Gregory snickered and tried to lean forward, but the straps held him fast.  "I'm sane.  Really.  I just gotta get the others.  The _diiiiiirty ones.  They're not all girls, you know.  Some are men.  He told me."  _

"Who told you?" Clarice asked, smiling.  Internally she found herself thinking _What a whack job.  She found herself wondering if Dr. Lecter knew what Gregory had done.  The man could be quite vicious and cruel when he wanted to, but it didn't seem his style.  It seemed…rude.  _

"I can't _tellllll you," Gregory giggled.  "It's a secret.  But I know what I gotta do."  _

Clarice nodded and stepped away.   All Gregory Lynch would be doing for the next few years would be inventorying the contents of his cell.  Clarice had examined his file, and she thought it was odd.  Someone had helped Lynch.  Someone _had to have helped Lynch.  But the someone who helped him hadn't counted on the man's near-complete psychosis.  He'd come seriously unhinged somewhere along the line.  Was that someone Dr. Lecter?  Clarice thought that it was.   _

"So what now?" Agent Lutz asked.  

Clarice sighed.  What now, indeed?  She was back here, where she wanted to be.  Back hunting her prey.  Back making the world safe for its lambs.  She was a warrior, taking up her sword to protect the weak from those who would hurt them.  There was some honor in that, she thought. 

"This guy got a ticket to Berlin from somebody," Lutz prompted.   "Should we poke around Berlin, maybe?  Dr. Lecter had been living in Germany before.  Think maybe, just maybe it might be smart police work to go looking in Germany for him?"  

Clarice Starling thought about what she'd promised to do.  She smiled softly, and sadly.  She knew what was going to happen next:  as the months went by without the doctor in custody, the task force would eventually dwindle.  Its agents would be reassigned.  As for her, she'd end up with some management experience.  Might help next time there was a promotion at stake.  

But she'd made a promise.  

"No," she said calmly.  "Not yet.  If Dr. Lecter had anything to do with this, he'd have sent Lynch somewhere else.  The doctor isn't in Germany.  Let's keep searching here for now, until we get something that indicates where he might be."  

Knowing full well that Dr. Hannibal Lecter and his wife were nowhere to be found in the United States, Clarice Starling led her team out to the cars and back to Quantico.  A serene, sad little smile crossed her face. 

…

SEVERAL MONTHS LATER

The mansion in the wealthy suburb of Hietzing was quite nice, Erin Lander thought.  Just about as good as Wannsee.  Over these past several months, she had gotten accustomed to her new life.  A new name.  A new accent.  Austrian German still sounded strange to her German-accustomed ear.  And a rapidly changing body.  She sat out on the balcony, her hands on her grossly pregnant belly.  Her due date had come and gone.  Any day now. 

Just as Henry and Angela Lind had found a place in Berlin, Stefan and Eva Kraus had found a place in Vienna.  Frau Dr. Kraus had only six months or so to establish herself as a surgeon, but things were working well enough.  She had a job at Vienna General Hospital, but now she was on maternity leave.  Soon, she would be returning to the hospital, but not as a surgeon.  She wasn't looking forward to that.  But it would mean an end to being pregnant, and she _was _looking forward to that.  She'd been largely restricted to the house:  partially because he insisted on it, and partially because her own weight was too much for her to carry very far.  The small, sensible Volkswagen parked in the driveway next to the BMW had been great, but she couldn't drive it anymore.  She could choose to fit behind the wheel or be able to reach the pedals with her feet, but not both.  

She'd been having Braxton-Hicks contractions for the past few weeks, but now they seemed to be stronger and sharper.  Ever since she'd gotten up that morning, she'd noticed the increase in strength and the fact that they were not slacking off at all.  So she'd come out here with a few medical books balanced on her stomach.  Her child didn't like the book resting on his – or her, she didn't know – personal space and kicked at it furiously.  In a way, it was amusing.  During her internship she'd been bored to tears during her OB rotation.  Surgery had interested her far more.  Now she'd had to get up to speed on OB.  Any day now was rapidly becoming today or tomorrow. 

Her hair color was back to its natural black.  She preferred it that way. With a bit of work around her eyes and nose, she was reasonably confident that none of her former co-workers from Berlin might recognize her, unless attention was called to her.  She had seen a few of them around and kept her mouth firmly shut.  

_We're going to be a family, _she thought.  _Him, me…and baby.  _For a moment, she tasted the pleasure of that.  It meant a great deal for an orphan to have a family.  In that, she was not terribly different from Clarice Starling. 

She staggered to her feet and walked back to the door to the house proper.  The maid saw her, her eyes wide, and offered to help her downstairs to where her husband was in his office.  Herr Doktor Kraus was a professor at the University of Vienna, teaching Renaissance history.  But he, too, had taken time off as the time grew closer.  She accepted the maid's offered arm and headed slowly downstairs, feeling rather like a battleship in a smock.  

Dr. Stefan Kraus was sitting in his study when his wife entered the room.  On his desk was a copy of the _Tattler, _an American trash tabloid.  He was studying an article across the second page.  _FBI'S KILLING MACHINE NOW THE CHIEF HUNTSMAN, _the headline read.  He perused the article.  

_Special Agent Clarice M. Starling, known for the successful hunt for Buffalo Bill many years ago, has been promoted.  Special Agent Starling most recently headed up the Lecter task force, seeking to bring to justice the cannibalistic madman who helped her track Buffalo Bill to his lair.  Agent Starling did manage to track the monster to Berlin, Germany, where he had taken up with a surgeon who fell into his web.  _That made Dr. Lecter chuckle.  Under other circumstances, Erin might have found it amusing as well, but at nine months pregnant her sense of humor was at an all-time low.  Dr. Lecter continued reading.  

_Agent Starling was unable to capture the killer, but she did apprehend his wife.  After bringing her back to Quantico under an offer of immunity, Agent Starling was embroiled in a political battle that threatened to claim her career.  But even that wasn't enough, as she almost lost her life in the process. Captured by the cannibalistic madman, she was subject to his horrific tortures and twisted brain-surgery techniques.  _Oh, please.  Erin had made every effort to make sure Clarice's surgery was pain-free, and her procedure had been entirely routine. _ But Starling, determined to fight the good fight, returned to the helm of the task force.  _

_Unable to catch the elusive madman, Agent Starling moved on to successfully head hunts for other serial killers after the Lecter task force was disbanded two months ago.  She recently testified in the trial of crazed Gregory Lynch , and just brought to justice Daniel Worthson, the serial killer terrifying Seattle, Washington three days ago.  And now all that hard work has paid off:  Agent Starling is now Deputy Chief Starling of the Behavioral Sciences Unit.  Bloodthirsty killers and madmen have a new foe to beware.   _

Odd for the _Tattler _to be so nice, Dr. Lecter thought. Then again, with his little Clarice in an official position of authority, it made sense for them to be polite.  Perhaps now, he thought, she would be able to get some peace.  But in his darker thoughts, he knew better.  She would ceaselessly hunt the wolves who threatened the lambs.  But for every wolf she put away, two more would spring up.  The dungeon scales at Threave would not ease for Clarice, but perhaps she would find some happiness in her work.  And the world would be not only more interesting with her in it, but safer.  

Dr. Lecter sighed.  He was certainly quite content, and happy to become a father.  And to have back what was rightfully his.  He was glad for Clarice; she deserved it.  But he would always wonder what could have been.  

When his wife appeared in the doorway, Dr. Lecter put down the paper and looked up. 

"Hannibal?" Erin said.  Her face pinched with discomfort and then opened again in excitement.

"Yes, dear," Dr. Lecter said.  "I was just reading the paper.  Clarice has been promoted."  

"Good," Erin said carefully.  "Took me three hours to put her skull back together.  You don't think she'll…?"

"No," he said.  "She's got other things to do now."  

  "So do we," she said.  "It's time now." 

Clarice Starling, far across the ocean, was beginning a new chapter in her life.  Now Dr. Hannibal Lecter rose and walked his wife out to the car, preparing to start a new chapter in his.   

FIN

_Author's notes:  Well, that was fun, wasn't it? A lot more angst-y than I expected it to be at first.  But, it was fun. I know, it was a little rough on some of you (ahemcoughLadyOfTruthscough), but it all worked out for the best. _


End file.
